


case the promised land

by brightblue



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightblue/pseuds/brightblue
Summary: "When Claire Saffitz was four years old, her parents bought her a Fisher-Price doctor kit."The medical drama AU that no one asked for. Claire is an ER doc. Brad is a paramedic. Medical drama ensues!
Relationships: Brad Leone & Claire Saffitz, Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 90
Kudos: 133





	1. show a little faith there's magic in the night

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Thunder Road" by Bruce Springsteen. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. So let's just all pretend. Keep the RPF thing between us friends, okay?
> 
> Thank you to my super cheerleaders/betas/friends-- you know who you are! I would be muttering this to myself in the dark night otherwise. It's much appreciated. Also much thanks to the lovelies in the chat for fueling the fire! :-)
> 
> This is a WIP, forewarned. I have a lot more backlogged and have literally nothing else to do with my time so I fully plan to finish this. It's all set up in a very pretty outline! Also, I am 100% not a medical expert. I tried to do as much research as possible but also have no plans on getting a medical degree so I had to tell myself to just roll with it. I'm sure I messed up a lot. If you would like to offer your help, just let me know! Open to suggestions but also: it's just a fanfic. So let's enjoy it.

When Claire Saffitz was four years old, her parents bought her a Fisher-Price doctor kit. It was her favorite present that year. For weeks after, she wore the yellow and blue stethoscope around her neck just like the happy little doctors in the picture. Her sisters humored her for a time, but soon they grew tired of her frequent check-ups and how, no matter what their ailment turned out to be, they required a stabbing shot to the arm. Her mother suggested Claire make her stuffed animals her patients and so, from then on, she spent hours alone in her room discovering the cures for wobbly tails and matted fur. That also seemed to involve a lot of shots, curiously enough.

When Claire started kindergarten, each child in her class had to draw a picture of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Claire drew herself as a doctor. And so it was illustrated in thick, brilliant Crayola lines. It’s been her path ever since, carefully researched and plotted and pursued: Harvard for pre-med, Stanford for medical school (she was _so_ not a California person as it turned out) and back to Harvard’s Brigham and Women’s Hospital, the top ranked emergency medicine program in the country, for residency and an Emergency Critical Care fellowship. It all led to a prized Attending Emergency Physician position at New York City's St. Vincent Hospital and the life she’d always dreamed of. 

So what happens once you meet your goal? Achieve your dream? Claire has been so focused on always getting that next shiny, golden ring that now that she’s collected them all, she isn’t sure what’s next. In her mind, and literally on her vision boards, was some glamorous life that somehow combined Sex and the City with Grey’s Anatomy in a life that was effortlessly romantic and dramatic. It would be long, exhausting shifts in the hospital, true, but with work that was mentally and physically stimulating. In her spare time, she’d have plenty of energy for long runs in the park and cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking and dating successful, attractive men who shared her love for Saturday brunch and strolls through the MoMa. 

As it turns out, her shifts at the only Level One trauma center in lower Manhattan are exhausting, And, yes, sometimes they are stimulating, but often they are frustrating and draining and tedious. She’s stuck with the night shift partially to curry herself favor with hospital admin but also because, as a life-long insomniac, she likes the slow rhythm of the hospital after the sun goes down. There is something mysterious and magical about it. It suits her, at any rate. But getting her body back to normal human time on her days off is a bitch and she’s far more likely to opt for a lazy afternoon on her couch with Buffy DVDs rolling in the background rather than rooftop mimosas and trips to the museum.

Surely she didn't work so hard her whole life for _this_?

* * *

It is a common superstition in the emergency room to not call it like it is: quiet. The q-word is strictly verboten. Anyone who dares speak it aloud into the calm, tranquil night of St. Vincent’s Emergency Department is immediately banished to the ambulance bay to await the inevitable arrival of a multiple gunshot wound victim or overdosing teen.

So Claire doesn’t say it is quiet. She thinks it, though. 

Claire has parked herself in the staff workroom and is scrolling through her phone. She stabs half-heartedly at the chef’s salad that dares to call itself her dinner. As usual, she ran out of time to pack herself a proper meal before heading off to her shift. The hospital cafeteria options are sadly limited during the overnight shift; the tasteless combination of iceberg lettuce and overcooked hard-boiled eggs will have to do.

“It’s weirdly quiet tonight, huh?” Her fellow attending, Dr. Sohla El-Waylly, says as she enters the workroom, sinking herself on the beaten up couch tucked in the corner. 

Claire pauses, a forkful of lettuce and tomato balancing in the air. “Did you really just say that word out loud?”

“What word?” Sohla is stretching her arms up and rolling her neck. She barely seems to register her sin. She removes her glasses and cleans them on her lab coat. 

“Sohla,” Claire warns, mouth full of salad. “The q-word.”

It takes the new attending a minute. Maybe the q-word wasn’t a thing in her last placement, some hospital out in Queens. Sohla just waves a dismissive hand in the air. “I don’t believe in superstitions!”

Claire makes a face. What doctor doesn’t believe in superstitions? They are practically a full-fledged course in med school. “Fine. Great. The next call is all yours then! And Kevin is one of your residents tonight so…”

Sohla groans and covers her face with her hands, smudging her glasses all over again. “Last week he tripped over a gurney and face planted into our patient’s lap!”

“No!” Claire laughs at the mental image. Kevin Dynia is a great guy and a good doctor. But he is also a total klutz. 

Sohla starts to tell the story but before she can get a full sentence out, the intercom blares to life, alerting them to an incoming trauma patient. Claire and Sohla spring into action.

“See!” Claire shakes her head. “If this is something crazy, it’s all yours.” 

“I’ll take it. I just spent the last twenty minutes coaching Jesse on how to counsel a college girl on how to properly treat her STD.” Sohla laughs at the memory. “He’s gotta learn sometime.”

Claire chuckles and waves goodbye to Sohla as she heads out the door. Making first-years uncomfortable is a true highlight of a supervisory role. Taking one last bite of turkey (or is it ham? Who can tell? Hopefully it’s at least protein), Claire leaves the fork in her salad container, snaps the plastic lid closed, and tosses it in the fridge. She gives her hands a thorough wash and ignores the hunger pains that still twinge in her stomach. Hopefully there will be time later. Claire hustles toward the ambulance bay to await their next patient. The little corridor bustles with staff anticipating the possibly critical arrival. 

“I thought it was mine regardless?” Sohla teases when Claire pulls up beside her. She waves Molly, one of the nurses, over to them. 

“Oh no,” Claire shakes her head. “I’m not going back to that sad salad. If this is something straightforward, I’m taking it. Dibs.” She knows that Sohla can take some good-natured case stealing given that she’s still technically in her probationary period. Sohla’s cool like that.

“This is all Claire,” Molly winks as she comes to stand between them, catching the tail end of their conversation. She hooks a hand on each end of the stethoscope draped around her neck and lets her long blonde ponytail flip into her face. “80 year old male presenting with shortness of breath and chest pains. Being brought in by Unit 136.”

“Yes!” Claire reaches for the laptop cart and drags it over to herself. She doesn’t miss the look Molly throws at her. “I mean about the patient, Molly.”

“Uh huh.” Molly smirks, then nudges her elbow into Sohla.

“I don’t get it?” Sohla looks between the women with confusion. 

Molly waggles her eyebrows. “ _Unit 136_. Oh, you’ll see.”

Claire ignores her coworkers and preps herself for their case. She’s reading the patient record as it’s updated in real time, information and stats from the ambulance being transmitted as they occur. She doesn’t have to glance at the dispatch information to know who’s running the treatment on this patient. She’d recognize Brad’s writing anywhere— haphazard with many typos and weird interjections of humor. (“Px asked for a strawberry milkshake. Appetite good. Taste? questionable.”) She smiles to herself. “You’re off the hook, Sohla. Wait for the inevitable next one.”

Sohla reads the chart over Claire’s shoulder. She gives her a questioning look. Claire doesn’t blame her. An elderly male with likely cardiac issues isn’t exactly a hot case. “Will do.”

Claire rattles off a few anticipatory instructions to her team as they await their patient’s arrival. “Mike?” She calls for her most senior resident that she knows will be lingering in the background. He just discharged his two patients and she’ll likely turn this one over to his care once they get him stabilized. “Page Dr. Music in cardiology.”

“On it, doc!”

Seconds later, red flashing lights flood the brightly lit hallway through the windows. The ambulance rolls up into the driveway and it’s not long before their patient is rolling in, two towering paramedics on either side of the gurney.

“Good evening, my dear St. Vincent friends!” Alex Delany, the younger paramedic, grins as he guides the gurney toward the room Molly points at like an air traffic controller. Delany is loud and smiling, entirely too cheerful for the middle of the night in Claire’s opinion. But Claire doesn’t really pay him much attention. Her eyes go automatically to Brad Leone, the senior paramedic on the team. Brad is always smiling too, and he can certainly be loud, but there is something more measured about him. His energy is always focused on the patient and not on making the young female nurses swoon.

Brad’s large body is leaning over their patient as they roll in, chatting animatedly, his bright blue eyes sparkling and hands waving. The elderly man has his arms crossed over his chest even with the IV lines poking into him. His frown is deep and unmoving under his oxygen mask. Brad doesn’t let this slow him down. Claire bites back a grin. 

“Ahhh! The lovely Dr. Saffitz! Hey there, Claire!” Brad finally notices her and gives her a beaming smile. 

“Whaddya got for me today, Leone?” She smiles back, she can’t help it, but quickly switches her focus from the paramedic to the patient. Their patient looks alert and oriented. He seems to be chatting with Brad in a comfortable, albeit cranky, manner, removing his oxygen mask every so often to do so. 

“This is my friend Joseph Stover,” Brad offers by way of introduction, patting the man on the shoulder as he points to Claire. “He’s having some chest pain and shortness of breath. Brought on by the abysmal performance of the Mets in tonight’s game, no doubt. He tried to sleep it off but there ain’t no comin’ back from that, in my opinion. Call it a season!” 

“It’s May!” The older man removes his mask again to croak out. Brad just pats him on the shoulder again and chuckles good-naturedly.

As the medical team works to transfer their patient to a hospital bed, Claire keeps flicking her gaze between them and the chart in front of her. Her brain works to take in all the data presented to her, an initial treatment plan and questions already formulating. 

“Mr. Stover, you really should not try to sleep off chest pain!” Claire can’t help but chide, though she keeps the expression on her face light. In a lower voice, she rattles off a few orders for lab work to Mike who nods and takes notes. Molly hooks their patient up to some fluids and monitors, moving easily in concert with Mike to get everything going. 

“See, told ya, Joe!” Brad throws an arm up as he moves a stool next to the patient’s bed. “Doc Saffitz is not happy. And I would not be pissin’ her off if I were you!” Claire makes a face at Brad’s seemingly permanent position at their patient’s bedside. It’s certainly not typical protocol for a paramedic to sit and stay awhile. But Brad is anything but a typical paramedic. It’s what she enjoys most about his visits to her ER.

Delany rolls his eyes at his partner as he works alone to remove the stretcher and ambulance equipment from the room. Brad sees this and just waves him away. Claire shoots Delany a sympathetic look. As a doctor, she generally appreciates the thorough first hand data Brad often provides but there are also times, like now, he’s more content to just shoot the shit when there are critical assessments to be made. 

“I shoulda just stayed home…” Joe grouches and glares at Molly, who is attempting to take some blood. “Gettin’ poked and prodded like a pincushion here. Ouch!” He half-heartedly swats at Molly’s hand. The veteran nurse avoids it with an overly bright smile and quick reflexes.

“Hang in there, Mr. Stover,” Claire assures him. She moves closer to his bed to grab for the ECG readout. “We’ll get you checked out and make sure everything is okay. You want to live to see the Mets play another day, right?”

Joe just grumbles something to himself. Brad apparently hears it as he leans over and whispers something into the man’s ear. 

“I know she’s pretty!” Joe suddenly shouts. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy to be stuck here!”

Claire feels her cheeks go hot. She catches Brad’s gaze and he has the grace to look sheepish. 

“Is that how Leone got you onto the stretcher, Joe?” Molly teases. “Promising you our prettiest doctor?” Molly winks at Claire. 

“Okay, enough!” Claire glares at Molly. She hears Sohla, who for some reason is still lingering in the background (probably just waiting on another trauma call), laugh. “Let’s get this moving so we can get Mr. Stover out of here!” Claire knows that it’s likely the older man has at least an overnight stay in the hospital ahead of him but she’ll shade that detail in later when he’s more settled. Or maybe let Carla break the news. She’s good with the cranky octogenarians. 

“Can’t believe you sold me out like that, ol’ Joe! Thought we were pals, bud!” Brad is laughing and apparently not super embarrassed to have been caught calling her pretty to a patient. Claire feels like she should be annoyed on principle, and if it were anyone else commenting on her looks she would go quickly into the pissed category, but this is Brad. Brad who can make even the prickliest of patients smile and feel at ease. 

“Humph. Live as long as I do and you learn there is little time for bullshit.” Joe rolls his eyes and, despite the crankiness radiating from his every pore, he seems much more at ease when he talks with Brad.

“You’re gonna have a lot more time for bullshit, Mr. Stover,” Claire assures. “I can tell you that much.”

Joe just snorts and lays back, closing his eyes. Claire squints at him to be sure he’s just being petulant and not fading on her. Brad shoots her an exaggerated wink. He gives Joe a final pat to the shoulder before navigating his big body out of the small space. As it happens, he has to brush past Claire to make it out of the room. Claire can’t help that her breath hitches when he places a gentle hand to her back, steering her just a bit to the left so he can sneak out. She’s keenly aware, then, of how much taller he is than her, how broad. She has to tilt her head back to even look up at him. 

“Thanks, Brad,” she murmurs as he shuffles out of the room. She hates that she sounds a bit breathless. Hates that just a few minutes of him in her ER makes the night feel just a bit brighter. 

He salutes her with a goofy smile on his face. “Keep doin’ the good work, Doc. Maybe I’ll catch ya later.” Then, he turns to leave, whistling and singing to himself.

“Be safe!” She hears herself shout at his back and as her words come back to her ears she frowns. _Be safe_? When has she ever said that to one of the many paramedics that filter in and out of the department. She groans and slaps her forehead. 

“I think he’s sweet on you,” Joe says in the most calm, even voice Claire has heard from him yet. She narrows her eyes at the man, considering how much of the grumpiness was just a way to banter with Brad. 

Frowning, Claire turns her attention back to the computer to sign off on her initial orders. “He was just trying to cheer you up, Mr. Stover. At my expense.”

“Uh huh. Yeah. What do I know,” is all the old man says before shifting his attention to picking at his IV tape. He burps loudly. Claire sighs.

Claire finishes up her work and logs out of the chart. “Your nurse, Molly, will take care of you for now, Mr. Stover. Call her if you need anything. Dr. Guggino will be your treating physician. He was the one with the beard and glasses. He’ll be back shortly with some medication that will make you more comfortable for now. In the next hour, Dr. Music from cardiology should be down pending some lab work to update you on things, okay? You’ll like her. She’s pretty too.”

Joe doesn’t answer. Just groans and grumbles and tries to get comfortable on the bed. Claire leaves him with a lingering look of sympathy, confident he is stable for the time being.

Her work complete, Claire finds her way back to the workroom and her salad after checking in with her residents and determining everyone is settled for the time being. Sohla will pick up the next call and so she has a little time to catch up on her charting for the night. 

“So…” Sohla fixes her with a look as she picks at her own dinner (lunch? Who’s to say what it’s called at eleven at night?) “I’m new here so sorry if I’m supposed to know this… You and that paramedic? The big one with the beanie on?”

Claire frowns. “Brad?”

Sohla nods, taking a bite of her pasta dish. A delicious looking lunch she packed from home. Claire tries not to be envious. “I sensed a vibe.”

“A vibe?” Claire feels her cheeks pink up again. “That’s nothing. There’s no vibe. He’s just Brad. He’s friendly like that with everyone. Didn’t you see how he was with our patient?”

Sohla studies her carefully, her lips teasing a smile. “Huh. Okay.” She puts her palms up. “Maybe so. Just seemed like the way you were looking at each other—

“I was looking at my patient’s chart!” Claire isn’t sure why she’s so defensive. But this is that hard time of night, when she definitely gets a little prickly herself. And yet she’s barely a third of the way into her shift.

“Hmm, Okay,” Sohla says again. “My bad.”

“Besides,” Claire continues, trying to control the odd flutter she suddenly feels in her chest. “I think he has a girlfriend.” Claire isn’t sure this fact is helpful to her case. She can’t honestly say she knows anything about the private lives of most of the paramedics that come through the department. Still, she overheard Brad mentioning a woman making him dinner to Molly and Delany once as they chatted. And what’s the likelihood of a man who looks like that being single? Let alone one who is so compassionate and friendly? Highly unlikely.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Sohla waves her off. “I’ll mind my own beeswax.”

“That would be great,” Claire responds a little tartly before tuning out Sohla to go back to her work. 

It’s not like she has time for a relationship anyway. Especially not one with an overly friendly paramedic.


	2. there's no race, there's only a runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How we doing out there, fam? Stilling holding it together? Did last Friday night happen? What even is today? Seems like we are in need of some Brad and Claire content and I am here to deliver. 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely betas. <3 And thanks so much to all those who took the time to read and review. It is appreciated more than you know. I'm glad you are just as excited about this concept as I am!

Dr. Adam Rapoport is the Director of Emergency Medicine at St. Vincent’s. A prestigious title, to be sure, and he is well aware of it. 

An upside to the night shift, one Claire does not take for granted, is the distinct lack of bureaucracy as the majority of the hospital’s bigwigs prefer a more regular schedule. Still, Rapo makes it a point of hanging around to check in with the night shift on occasion. He’s not a bad guy, as far as bosses go. But he is a bureaucrat through and through. Claire just knows she has to stay on his good side if she ever plans on rising through the ranks of the hospital. And she certainly does plan to do that. Eventually. 

“Dr. Saffitz!” 

Claire cringes, knowing she can’t pretend to not hear him. He’s standing in a cluster of interns, all of whom look at him with insincere adoration, and drinking a deeply purple liquid from a glass bottle.

“Dr. Rapoport!” Claire forces a smile as she mentally tables the three tasks she was about to complete and makes her way over to him. The interns scatter. “What is that?” She can’t help but ask, wrinkling her nose and nodding at his drink.

Rapo considers the glass, his narrow face pinching. “Beet kvass! It’s good for digestive health. My administrative assistant likes to ferment it for us.”

It’s a struggle for Claire not to grimace. “Nice. Wow. Sounds great.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Rapo shrugs. He seems to register for the first time that his adoring audience has left. He blinks, then shifts his attention fully on Claire. “Got a minute, Dr. Saffitz? I have something I’d like to address.”

She really doesn’t. Not only because she has half a dozen balls in the air right now, but also because a “something to address” from her boss’ boss is never a good sign. “Sure!” She jerks her head in the direction of the staff workroom. Rapo takes another sip of his bright purple beverage and follows her. Once the door to the workroom is closed behind them, Claire asks, “What’s up?”

“Ahh,” Rapo smacks his lips and closes the bottle. “This really is delightful.”

Claire just nods and smiles tightly, mentally urging him to get on with it. She ignores the twist of anxiety in her gut. 

“Yes, so!” Rapo tucks the bottle into the crook of his elbow so he can rub his hands together. Claire automatically folds her arms across her chest. She knows this is an obviously defensive posture but she can’t help it. “Dr. Duckor and I were taking an early peek at some of the resident feedback.”

Claire’s stomach twists again. Feedback. Wonderful. And from Duckor, her direct boss, the Chief of Emergency Medicine. “Okay…”

Rapo can’t seem to sustain eye contact with her. His eyes flit careful and calculating around the workroom, taking in each poster and taped up note; Claire knows there will be a fussy email later about being mindful of single use plastics and leaving dirty dishes in the staff kitchen sinks. As if little things like that weren’t mostly done in the rush of a moment. “This conversation, of course, is not an official component of your evaluation. We’ll look at all of our data in a more complete manner once the cycle officially comes to a close.”

“Noted.” Claire forces herself to breathe deeply and evenly. She’s had years of practice in accepting soul-crushing feedback from her superiors. She can deal with this. She can take it in and not say anything back, no matter how much she wants to defend herself. 

Rapo either doesn’t sense her distress or he doesn’t care. “The residents have generally positive feedback about your leadership and guidance, Claire. Keep that in mind.” Claire’s stomach clenches again. She digs her fingers into her arm. Bites her lip. “But reading between the lines of this current cohort’s feedback, Duckor wonders if you are truly letting your residents utilize their own problem solving frameworks?”

“I’m sorry, sir?” Claire blinks, not understanding. 

“What we’ve noticed in these younger crops of residents is the need for independence and autonomy, the freedom to insert a dash of creativity in their treatment plans.”

Claire doesn’t get it. She bristles. She knows she shouldn’t speak back too much, but she can’t let this go totally unquestioned. Not when she’s right and he’s so clearly wrong. “I wasn’t aware there was much room for creativity in standardized protocol, especially with our most critical patients.”

“Of course, that is true,” Rapo shrugs. His attention is clearly waning. “I’m not saying to throw best practice out the window. I’m suggesting you work on giving our residents the illusion of ingenuity. St. Vincent’s is renowned for challenging existing practice in emergency medicine, breaking through with even more efficient and effective practices. This is why our residents choose this program. Let’s allow them to experience that.”

Claire can’t help the tight look on her face. She wonders how she will possibly do that the next time she’s trying to make sure her second years tick every box in their stroke response protocol within the first minute of a patient’s arrival. Sure, if someone wants to come up with a creative solution for an infected abscess she’s all ears (so long as they do the dirty work) but most procedures need to be completed in a prescribed way for a reason. “I think I understand.”

Rapo gives her a roll of his eyes that makes Claire feel like there’s some greater meaning here she isn’t getting. “Of course you understand, Dr. Saffitz! You’re our brightest attending! We are pleased with your work ethic and leadership. The residents really benefit from being under your tutelage. But if you’re looking for a greater role in teaching down the line, developing a sound pedagogy is really something to consider.”

“Uh huh.” Claire has no idea what the fuck he is talking about. A headache makes itself known, squeezing at her skull. 

“Just some things to think about.” Rapo’s phone beeps discretely and he pulls it up to check it. “Now, excuse me, I have to be on my way. Have a good shift.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rapoport,” Claire forces a smile even though she feels deflated on the inside. What did Rapo mean? That she isn’t on track for a faculty position? Of course, she knows the reality of earning such a role at a hospital as large as St. Vincent’s is years down her timeline. She needs to put in the work first if she plans to rise through the ranks here. Which means there is plenty of time for course correction, if that’s what’s needed. She exhales deeply. Her head is aching, swimming with thoughts on the next steps she needs to take, how she can fix this. Since when does the director let you in on feedback prior to your evaluation? Surely that isn’t a good sign? Or maybe it means there’s still time to prove herself? There’s too much to consider and not enough time to dwell on it. Claire pinches the bridge of her nose but it offers her no relief.

Claire’s beeper goes off at the same time the intercom announces an incoming Level 1 trauma. She feels her phone vibrate in her jacket pocket, probably her reminder to check on her residents. She curses. Well, no time to worry about it now.

* * *

Claire finds her favorite, vaguely hidden corner of the emergency department. It’s bare and quiet and, most importantly, low traffic. After a whirlwind few hours during which Rapo’s words have been echoing around the back of her mind, pulling threads of tension whenever she lets herself hear them, she finally has a few minutes to just stop and try to process them before she loses it completely. 

She leans her forehead against the wall, takes a deep breath, and bangs her head gently against the cool surface a few times.

“Okay, there, Doc?” 

Claire startles at the familiar voice. She stands up straight. Steps back from the wall. “ _Oh_! Hey, Brad!”

He looks at her expectantly. She huffs.

“I’m fine,” she closes her eyes and gives her head a shake. “Just…” she waves a hand in the air. Where to start? The more she thinks about it, the less she’s sure what to do with Rapo’s feedback. She just knows she isn’t living up to whatever strange standard he and Duckor have for her and the thought of somehow not meeting this unknown benchmark gnaws at her. A loud groan emerges from her lips instead of words.

Brad gives her an amused look. “No worries if you don’t want to talk about it,” he shrugs and leans against the opposing wall. Claire mirrors his pose on her side of the corner. Her eyes drift over his frame of their own accord, take in the way his navy uniform hugs his body. Her eyes linger over the heavy belt around his waist. He’s got a little belly that hangs over it and something about that is adorable; she wants to wrap her arms around him. He seems like he’d give good hugs and, in her emotional turmoil, a hug sounds amazing. His hands are hooked into his belt, one long leg crossing over the other as his heavy black boots tap out a rhythm on the linoleum floor. Suddenly her corner feels so small and crowded. But not in a bad way.

“It’s a long story,” Claire shrugs finally, not knowing where to begin. “In a nutshell, my boss is a typical hospital bureaucrat. All about making himself look good. He gave me some, frankly misguided, feedback and now I don’t know what he wants from me as a physician. It’s driving me insane. Also, I’m probably going to get fired.” Well. That’s not true. And the hysterical pitch her voice hits at the end of her rant underlines that. But if she gets a terrible evaluation she _might as well_ get fired. 

Brad takes a moment to digest her words. He’s quiet, still, and his eyes take her in in a way that she knows he’s really trying to hear her. It warms her from the inside. “Say no more!” Brad finally speaks and holds up a hand. “Fuck the man. That’s what I always say.” 

A laugh bubbles out of Claire from somewhere deep inside. It’s simple but effective advice. “Thanks, Brad,” she says with a crooked smile. “That weirdly made me feel better.”

“Ain’t nothin’ weird about it. Eat the rich, or whatever that saying is.” He yanks the black beanie off his head, wiping his hand absently through the mess of brown curls he reveals. A little thin at the top, but no less attractive. Claire flicks her eyes away before she can wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. “Anyway. You’re a good doc, Claire. One of the best in the city, far as I’m concerned. Don’t let your boss get to you.”

The praise makes her stand a little taller, feel a little lighter. Brad doesn’t strike her as the type to hand out unearned compliments and he’s certainly been at hospitals all over town in his line of work. She’ll take the win, for now. 

“I’ll try not to,” she promises, and the way he nods back and holds her gaze really does make it feel that important. It’s a weirdly intense moment to share with the paramedic she hardly knows. They look at each other for a long moment, until well after the last shreds of worry have cleared from Claire’s mind. 

“Wait. Did you need something from me?” Clearing her throat, Claire frowns at Brad, trying to get her brain moving again. She can’t just spend her time staring at her coworker like he can solve all of her problems. (Can she?) Brad and Delany brought in an OD patient like fifteen minutes ago. She’s surprised he’s still around. Normally, once the paramedics pass along their case, they get their signatures and head out to the next emergency. And Guggino took the lead on that patient. He’s the one that needs to sign the chart.

“Uh, no, just giving Delany a little lead time on cleaning up all the vomit our friend left on the floor of the truck.” Brad shrugs, not looking sorry at all. “Then I saw you here in the corner all ‘arghhh’ and ‘uggghhh’ and that shit.” He does a vague imitation of her grumbling and groaning, even banging his head against the wall for effect.

She can’t help but be somewhat offended, pouting at him because she did not look like that. “Brad!”

“Just calling ‘em like I see ‘em.” They catch eyes, time slowing again, and Claire is suddenly immeasurably glad that he’s here in her little corner right now, whatever the reason was for him finding her. She doesn’t see him nearly often enough like this. Is that wrong to think? Claire doesn’t care. She’s stressed and tired and is not going to overthink her desire to see a comforting face.

Brad’s phone trills from his pocket and he quickly yanks it out. He raises his eyebrows at her before muttering “Delany” with a grimace into the phone. Claire doesn’t understand that but is amused regardless. 

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Brad shoots her a sideways look before glancing away, nodding into the phone with an exaggerated _yeah, yeah, yeah_. “Fuckin’ Hunzi. Okay, yeah.”

Claire picks at her nails while Brad talks. She isn’t sure if she should stay or go but his conversation ends up being brief and he hangs up the phone with a “will do, bub!” 

“Can I ask a huge favor?”

Claire looks at him curiously. “Of course.”

Brad rolls his eyes. “So Delany is checkin’ inventory on the bus and realizes we’re runnin’ real low on my gloves. Any chance I could grab some from you? I really don’t want to run back to the station. Baraghani is on duty tonight and he will give me shit for this.”

Claire has no idea what that means but nods along with it. It’s not the first time a paramedic has asked someone (not usually _the attending_ though) to slip them some supplies that are running low.

“Yeah, sure,” Claire says, despite not being sure of the policy on this matter. It’s just a box of gloves, though, and right now she is happy to have a reason to stick it to the man, however inconsequential. “Right this way.” 

Claire leads Brad further into the department and to the supply closet. She’s surprised when he follows her into the small space. He takes up all the room; his body is warm behind hers. She can hear all the little sounds he makes as he breathes. Not anything worrisome; he just never seems to be _quiet_. Claire scans the shelf and traces her fingers along the stacks of different sized gloves. She automatically grabs for the Large sized box as it’s their most frequently used, especially by male staff. She pulls one off the shelf and hands it back to Brad, assuming he is right behind her.

It hangs in the air for a moment. Then a gentle pressure from his hand redirects the box back onto the shelf and grabs for a different box.

“Nope. These big mitts need an XL.” As Brad reaches over her head to grab them, Claire takes in his hands for the first time. Sure, she’s always seen him as this big, strong guy but she’s usually so focused on their patient that she’s never really _looked_ at his hands before. And, yeah. Okay. They are _big_. Just focusing her attention on his long, thick fingers makes her whole body flush with sudden arousal. Sweat prickles across her skin. _Okay_. From looking at a man’s hands. In the storage closet. At work. 

He fumbles with the box for a second, lifting it up and over her head, as her eyes trace the line of his fingers to the thickness of his palm, leading up to a strong, tanned forearm revealed by the short sleeves of his uniform. Those forearms. Which give way to biceps that discreetly flex and she idly wonders if her hand could even fully grasp one.... And, oh God, she hasn’t gotten laid in _so long_. 

She forces her gaze all the way up to his face and finds him looking down at her with vague amusement. Her cheeks burn. Surely, he can’t read her mind? She clears her throat as he tucks the box under his arm and jerks his head in the direction of the door. 

“Let me get the door for you, Claire!” He smiles down at her; it’s a little overly bright and Claire can’t help but smile back. She wonders, not for the first time, how he can always make her feel so _light_. His arm reaches forward for the door and she’s treated to yet another close up view of the hidden strength beneath all his bulk. He’s the kind of guy who comes by his muscles naturally, doesn’t spend hours in the gym, and there’s something sexy about that. Heat continues to swirl under Claire’s skin. Yeah, she thinks, he could just pick her up and have his way with her if he really wanted.

She swallows hard.

“Uh, Claire?”

“Yeah?” She exhales, feeling a bit hazy. She forces her gaze up to his eyes (so electric blue in the dim light of the storage closet.) On her inhale, she catches a hint of his smell— something masculine and woodsy that sets her blood to a simmer.

Brad makes a face in the direction of the door. Which he’s pushed open for her. And she hasn’t moved at all.

“Oh! _Oh_. Sorry. Just a little...distracted.” She shakes her head at herself. _Get it together, Saffitz!_ “Thank you.” She hustles out of the space, willing the flush in her skin to go down. Thankfully the perpetually cool hospital air hits her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches him looking down at her with a knowing look. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of responding.

As she walks ahead of him, she feels a soft pressure at her back and can’t help the tingle that runs down her spine as a result. _Wow_. She really needs to reflect on her life choices. Major sexual awareness just from standing in proximity to a man is not her speed...however gorgeous and climbable he may be.

They head toward the nurse’s station where Delany is draped over the counter, chatting with Rick Martinez, their nurse manager, and Molly. Conversation stops when they approach. Molly’s look of delight is anything but subtle. 

“Did you guys just—?” She waves her hand at the storage closet and cackles. Rick just smirks and discretely moves the water bottle Molly is about to knock over in her amusement.

“Get your mind outta the gutter, Molly!” Brad says, his voice loud and booming on the calm unit. He tosses the box of gloves in his hands back and forth. Claire hates that she can’t tear her gaze away. Well. It’s better than acknowledging Molly’s teasing looks at least.

“He just needed to borrow some gloves.” Claire forces attention on her colleagues. Rick gives her a discrete wink. Claire glares. She thought Rick was her favorite.

“Alright, alright,” Brad moves past Claire with a gentle touch to her shoulder that feels far too deliberate to be accidental. It takes all of Claire’s effort not to physically respond and she hates herself for it. “Let’s hit the road, Delany. I assume you dealt with the biohazard situation on the bus?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Delany waves him off. “Really appreciate all your help with that BTW. Always love seeing what a Big Mac looks like on the return trip.” Alex offers waves and goodbyes to the crew at the nurse’s station as he heads off, Brad trailing behind him as he gives his own farewells.

“Thanks again, Claire! Have a good night!” Brad saves her for last, turning as he walks away and tipping the box of gloves at her like a hat. Claire giggles before she can help it. Then covers her mouth, refusing to meet the eyes of her surely judgmental friends. Since when does she _giggle_? Her eyes flick up to meet Rick’s look of shock. He spares a glance at the retreating men and shakes his head. 

“ _What_?” Claire hisses, brushing the hair that has fallen out of her messy bun out of her face.

Before Rick can answer, Delany’s voice carries back into their space. The acoustics in the department have always been a tricky thing. 

“Dude, you asked _Claire_ for the gloves?” Delany seems to be trying to whisper but failing miserably. “Might as well have just said ‘I have a big dick, just so you know.’ Christ.”

“Fuck you, Alex,” Brad snaps back, an awkward laugh following, as they disappear out the door. 

Unfortunately, Claire is looking directly at Molly so she knows they all catch this. Molly’s blue eyes go wide and wild. She doubles over in laughter. Claire’s cheeks flame red. She rolls her eyes skyward and hopes for an earthquake. Maybe a tornado? Anything. 

Saying nothing, Claire just turns her attention away from her entirely too amused friends, takes a deep breath that does nothing to quench the fire low in her belly, and sets herself down in the nearest chair. Her eyes blink as she begins to scroll through the virtual board, hoping for a patient that needs her attention. Anything will do at this point. 

“ _Day-um_ , Claire,” Molly’s laughter has died down to the occasional giggle and snort.

“What?” She wonders if playing dumb will work. Looks like Priya picked up a patient with lower back pain in Room 5. She should probably follow up on that with her. 

The silence that befalls the nurse’s station is not comfortable in any way. In fact, Claire can feel the inquiring gazes of Rick and Molly on her face like a bad itch. But she will not give in.

“You know,” Rick finally offers as he organizes his area of the station. “Research has been clear that hand and foot size doesn’t correlate with the length of an erect penis.”

“ _Really_?” Molly sits on the desk rather than a chair and gives Rick her full attention. "Fascinating. Isn't that _fascinating_ , Claire? I never would've guessed."

“It’s true,” Rick nods. “It _is_ correlated with the ratio of length between the 2nd and 4th fingers, though. Something to do with testosterone exposure in-utero.”

Claire feels them both still watching her as Rick reveals this absurd trivia. She is not going to break.

But her traitorous mind flashes on Brad’s hands, those long fingers, and those big heavy boots he wears. _Dammit_. 

She breaks. Giggles like a schoolgirl.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Claire covers her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, “ Rick grins, satisfied, and turns back to his computer. 

“Claire! You’re a doctor. You should know this.” Molly shakes her head. She keeps trying to sneak looks at Rick’s hands but he keeps them moving fluidly on the keyboard. She settles for examining her own hands with a defeated sigh.

“I have had no complaints in that department, Molly,” Rick scolds. He hands her a print out and shoos her away. Molly grabs the paper but doesn’t leave. She fixes her ponytail, tugging it so it’s as high as possible on the top of her head. Gives it an experimental flip into her face.

“Next time Brad comes through, you should really take some measurements, Claire,” Molly nods sagely. “For research.”

Claire glares at them. “First, I have a run in with Rapo. Now you guys are giving me shit. I’m in no mood!”

“Touché!” Molly hops down from the counter. “I guess just find out the old fashioned way. You do you, girl.”

As Molly wanders off to theoretically do her job, Claire cuts a look at Rick. “Why is she giving me so much shit about this? Brad and I aren’t—”

“Claire, honey…” Rick gives her a sympathetic frown. Claire pouts, feeling like yet again she’s missing some bigger picture and hates it. “That boy looks at you like you’re Christmas morning.”

Claire snorts, not quite believing that’s what she’s not getting. “Well. I’m Jewish so.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Not the point. You know, there’s nothing wrong with a little workplace flirtation between consenting adults. Maybe even a workplace romance.”

Claire narrows her eyes at Rick. Workplace romance? Claire can’t find the time to properly clean her bathroom. “Rick. Even if I somehow had the energy to actually shave my legs and go on a proper date, I doubt Brad is actually interested. At best, he’s just flirting. Besides, when has an attending ever dated a paramedic?”

Turning away from his work, Rick gives her a pitying look. “Wow, Claire. What a thing to say.”

Claire lets out a noise of frustration. “I didn’t mean it like—” She waves her hand in the air before giving up and letting it rest on her forehead and groaning. “I didn’t mean it like _that_.” She isn’t really sure what she meant other than that dating around has never been her thing. She’s been a relationship girl, always— with the debate team captain and then an editor on her college newspaper who later worked for Obama, after that came med school and residency, where it was basically impossible to date someone who wasn’t going through the same thing. It’s not that she thinks she’s above dating a paramedic, or anyone really based solely on their job title. It’s just that she’s never really thought about it. The opportunity has never presented itself. 

Not that one is presenting itself now. 

“Uh huh,” Rick just raises his eyebrows and turns back to the computer. “No one is telling you to marry the guy. Maybe just have a little fun. You know, like Molly said, _research_.”

“Ugh,” Claire drops her head down to the desk and gives it a few taps. It isn’t her wall, but it’ll do. “I don’t want to think about this anymore. Did they start serving margaritas in the cafeteria yet?”

“Sadly, no,” Rick sighs. “You’re just going to have to suffer.”

“Thanks, Rick, your friendship is truly uplifting.” But Claire gives in to a laugh as she says it. She isn’t sure what she’d do without these people sometimes. Certainly she’d have given herself a traumatic brain injury by now. “Now, any updates on when my appendicitis is officially getting kicked upstairs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE TO COME SOON I SWEAR.
> 
> 90% of that nonsense at the end was inspired by the chat. That was for you, my dears! 
> 
> Chapter title song lyrics are from "Two of Us on the Run" by Lucius.


	3. the whole of the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to those who took the time to read and review. Here's the next chapter! More soon. Chapter title is the song The Whole of the Moon by The Waterboys.

It’s midnight on Claire’s day off. She hates these transitional days, trying to get her body back on a semi-normal sleep schedule only to have to turn around and go back to work the night shift again. It always feels a little weird to do laundry and clean her apartment at two in the morning. Though it’s not like there’s much else that can be done at that time of night. Certainly, her family and friends do not respond to her texts and a run through the park is out of the question. 

Baking, though, is something she can do.

Claire has set some dough to rise for a challah recipe she’s trying. Baking is her coping mechanism, something she does whenever she needs to quiet her brain. It’s hard not to overthink on nights like this. The rest of the world is sleeping and her body slows. Yet, she remains wide awake and all of her anxieties bubble to the surface. If she can turn her mind to focus on measurements and techniques, as her hands punch and knead dough, she can force that all back down again.

But now she has to wait for the dough to rise and there’s not much else to do but think. 

Claire loves her job. Most days. She likes that no day is the same. It’s always a mental challenge. And she’s a good doctor. She knows this. Easing someone’s pain and suffering during the worst moments of their life is rewarding, as are the grateful hugs and tearful words from friends and family. The days when she knows she’s helped save someone’s life, or even just helped them through a medical emergency or crisis, she is thankful for her life’s work. 

But then there are those _other_ moments. And some days she has a lot more of those: The revolving door of trauma and violence. Patients who are victims of a broken health care system or unequal society, looking to her for help she can’t provide. She tires of turning down the drug seekers, treating the same family’s every ache and sniffle because they have no primary care physician or health insurance, and providing food and TLC to the homeless vets that camp in their waiting room on cold nights. Claire can’t save them all. She knows this. Still, she carries them with her. All those that suffer that she cannot heal. All the problems she can’t fix.

With her laundry folded and her dough still rising, Claire sets herself at her small kitchen table. She opens her laptop. Idly scrolling through her email, she isn’t surprised that 95% of it is ads and newsletters. She deletes those with little thought. Her eyes linger on one subject line “Your interest in a Clinical Faculty position at Rush.” 

Claire inhales sharply and clicks open the email. It’s a warm response from the faculty recruiter at Rush University Medical Center in Chicago. She shouldn’t be surprised. One of her friends, Ken, from her residency days is currently on faculty in the cardiology department. He called Claire weeks ago, saying a head faculty physician in their Emergency Medicine department was going to retire and they were anticipating hiring a coveted position in the summer— she’d be a great fit, he said, surely she should consider this rare opportunity? He had praised the academic track, saying that while he still had patient contact the schedule was more predictable and human. More time was spent on teaching and research. He had a life and a family he could go home to at night. When the day ended, he wasn’t bone-tired.

Claire is fairly certain her next goal is to be a faculty physician. But she wants practical, real life experience in her back pocket before she hangs up her 12 hour shifts and retreats to a classroom. Still, with only a few years out in that practical experience, she feels the pull back to the familiar cradle of academia. Research and study are her strengths. She knows she’s good at those things. She can take her knowledge and train the next generation of doctors and be done with the daily grind of life in a city ER.

(She hears her mom’s voice in her head at that thought. Sauci is forever encouraging her to slow it down, consider life in an emergency department in a slower city or suburb. Maybe an urgent care clinic? With more predictable hours and less crisis? The trouble is, Claire can’t see herself being satisfied performing strep tests day in and day out. She craves the weird and strange cases that never fail to make their way through the emergency department. She doesn’t want anyone to get shot or stabbed, but those cases are way more challenging than yet another elderly stroke victim.)

Claire reads through the recruiter’s email. It’s warm and friendly and highlights all the strengths of the position Claire is already considering. She urges Claire to set up a first interview: “Let’s explore this further and see if you would be a good fit.” Claire takes a deep breath. Is this a step she’s ready for?

She looks around her apartment. Imagines packing it all up and relocating half-way across the country. She hasn’t been to Chicago since she was a teenager and her parents took their family there for a weekend trip. She remembers the beautiful lakefront trail and skyscrapers sparkling in the sun. Her teenage mind, craving more excitement and culture than the suburbs of St. Louis had to offer, loved the museums and crowds of people of all walks of life just going about their daily business. She didn’t care for the deep dish pizza but she supposes that is but a small sacrifice. 

Felix, Claire’s cat, comes crawling up to her, seeking attention with an urgent meow. Claire gives him a hearty scratch behind his ears as he winds around her leg. 

“Whaddya say, kitty? Do you think we would like Chicago?”

Certainly Chicago has apartments with sunny windowsills and birds that zoom past. Felix seems open to this and hops up onto her lap for further cuddles. Claire obliges. 

“Yeah, I do too.” She nuzzles into his soft, warm fur as she reaches around his body to type her reply. 

_Dear Ms. Cruz,_

_I would be delighted to schedule an interview. Here are the dates I’m available..._

* * *

Having approved her resident’s treatment plan for the woman with “a weird foot pain,” Claire gives Christina a sympathetic smile and promises her a cookie from her not-so-secret stash of baked goods. It’s only fair that a chocolate chip cookie awaits the other end of treating a severely ingrown toenail. It’s Saturday, rounding on midnight, and nonspecific pain in appendages is likely to be the least odd presenting complaints before dawn. 

Claire finds her way to the nurse’s station to check the virtual board of patients. Giving it a quick glance, she sees not much has changed in the last 20 minutes and all of her patients, and her residents’ patients, seem on track. Their current census is busy but manageable. 

“Uh, Claire? This guy is asking for you?” Priya pops her head out of the suture room. Claire frowns at the first-year resident. Priya is supposed to be stitching up a patient’s finger laceration, something she is more than capable of doing without supervision. Claire takes a deep breath and steels herself, hoping against hope she’s not about to have to spend the next few minutes of her life dealing with some racist, misogynistic old man who just wants to complain. Or maybe it’s a med seeker upset with the low dosage of painkillers on offer. Could be the guy just doesn’t like the stock image painting on the wall. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Okay, just a sec.” Claire allows herself an additional moment to compose herself, taking a gulp of water and pulling her hair down from its messy bun as she swallows. She reaches into her pocket for her ever-present cherry chapstick and smoothes some on. There. Her sure fire way to look more professional in less than a minute. 

“There she is!” A booming voice assaults Claire’s ears before she can even register the patient in the room.  
“ _Brad_?!” 

“Doc Saffitz!” Brad holds aloft his bandaged left hand, the white gauze wrapped around his index finger already stained through with red. 

“What happened?” Claire struggles to take in the scene. She realizes her first mistake was not reading the column of patient names on the board closely, just focusing on their presenting complaints. She blinks at her patient. Brad isn’t in the paramedic’s uniform she’s accustomed to. He’s wearing heavy khaki work pants, a grey henley, and a blue flannel over top. Instead of his familiar beanie, he has on a backwards red baseball cap that looks like it’s seen far better days. He isn’t Brad the paramedic; he’s Brad the lumberjack. Claire can’t help the grin that sneaks on her lips despite his obvious injury. “What are you doing here?”

“Really good question, Dr. Saffitz!” Priya laughs, though there is something a little evil about it, and clicks open Brad’s chart on the computer. She narrows her eyes at him and he visibly flinches. “Did you know he lives in New Jersey?”

“ _Really_?” Claire raises her eyebrows at that information. 

Brad’s good hand makes work of taking his cap off, running his hands through his hair, and shoving the hat back on. He avoids her gaze. “Yeah… well…gotta go with the docs I know I can trust! Who knows what they’ve been up to in Jersey?” His cheeks flush a little.

Priya just shakes her head. She mumbles something under her breath about empty beds and bridges. If Claire weren’t so delighted to see Brad like this (and isn’t it weird to be this excited for a patient?), she would share her annoyance. A finger laceration could’ve gone to any local urgent care or emergency department and obviously Brad knows this. 

But he chose to come here. From New Jersey.

Claire catches Brad's eyes and gives him a smile of approval. He winks back at her. “Worth the Lyft across the bridge to know I’m in good hands. Gotta keep the money makers from lookin’ all Frankenstein and shit.” He holds up his bloody appendage again.

Claire barely glances at Priya as she grabs for a pair of gloves. “I can take care of this one. Can you go check if the labs came back for the patient in Room 4?”

Priya looks at her, confused. Claire doesn’t blame her. It’s not exactly commonplace for an attending to offer to give sutures. “Sure can, Claire.” Priya leaves the room at a glacial pace. Claire isn’t sure why, but she waits for her to leave and close the door before rolling a stool up to the vertical exam chair Brad’s seated in. The height of his chair versus her stool has him at a higher elevation than her, even seated. 

Claire snaps on her gloves and rolls the ready-to-go equipment tray over to herself. She can feel Brad’s eyes on her every move as she sets herself up to the task.

“You haven’t even looked at my wound yet, Claire,” Brad teases, waving his bloodied hand around.

“I’m gonna guess that the highly skilled paramedic already has a good read on the situation,” Claire answers with an arch of her brow. She gestures for Brad to rest his arm on the table attached to his chair as she clicks on the exam light. He’s rolled the sleeve of his flannel up to his elbow, exposing a tanned forearm dusted with blond hair and splotches of dried blood.

Claire meets Brad’s gaze, finding herself suddenly closer to his stunning blue eyes than she’s ever been. He’s watching her carefully, intently. His gaze flickers over her face. Claire tries not to think of how pale and tired she must look at this point in her shift. She bites her lip and refocuses on the task at hand. She will not be distracted by him right now.

“What happened?” Her voice is softer than intended as she puts gentle pressure on his arm, repositioning it where she wants it, so his large hand fills the sterile paper on the table. She begins to pick off the bloody gauze, going slowly and gently, setting it aside.

“Ahhh, ya know, just me being a dummy and forgetting my basic safety skills.” Brad exhales as she removes the last of the gauze, revealing his left index finger and the sizable chunk of skin dangling from its tip. Claire winces in sympathy. “Was hanging out in my shop, you know, had the night off and a hot date with this dining table I’m trying to finish. Probably shouldn’t‘ve had that second beer with my freshly sharpened chisel.”

Claire makes a face and looks up at her patient. His eyes sparkle, a grin teasing his lips. Claire maintains eye contact as she reaches for the cleaning supplies and gets to work. She can’t help but smile back at him. “Wait. You’re gonna need to walk this back a few steps. Your shop?”

“Yeah, Claire! Didn’t ya know? My buddy and I have our own woodshop. Kind of a small set up, but it works. Mostly we dick around and make furniture for friends and family, but we’ve been doing some small scale production for our online shop. Shelves and cutting boards and shit. It’s a good side gig.” 

Claire pauses in her work and looks up at him. “How would I have possibly known that, Brad?” She shakes her head at him, amused. “But that’s great. Good for you. Just, you know, maybe dial back on drinking on the job?”

Brad gives her an exaggerated groan. She notices his breath doesn’t smell at all like alcohol, which makes her feel better. “It was two beers. My big ol’ meat paws are probably more to blame. I’m like 10 thumbs sometimes, Doc.”

Taking in the paws in question, Claire can’t help but laugh. And, yeah, now having a clinical reason to study them she has thoughts. They are very nice hands, technically speaking. For the first time ever, she kind of wishes she didn’t have to wear gloves so she could feel the warmth of his skin in her hands and it’s an odd thought. Her hands look so small compared to his. Claire clears her throat and finishes cleaning the wound.

“Well, whatever the case, you definitely did nice work here. This is going to take about 10 sutures to close.” She’s cradling his hand in her right palm as she gently probes at the wound with her left hand. She doesn’t worry about keeping him calm and relaxed through the gory process; he has clearly seen far worse and doesn’t even seem remotely affected to see his own finger nearly sliced in half.

“Nah! 6 at _most_ , Claire!” He leans in even closer to her to get his own look. Claire flicks her gaze up at him but he’s busy studying his wound. She gets a good whiff of him then, a scent so manly (sawdust and sweat and _Brad_ ) that her breath catches a bit.

Claire shakes her head to clear it. He’s too close. It's too much. Why did she send Priya off again? “I’m going for precision here, Brad.”

His eyes are clear and intense as he takes that in. He lets out a little whoop of delight, leaning back a bit. “Yeah you are! See. Worth the price of admission. I knew you were the best in the biz, Doc.”

Claire swallows a giggle, mostly successfully. “Brad,” she chides and places a steadying hand to his wrist. He goes still, eyes locking on hers. His pulse jumps beneath her touch. _Shit_. She wishes again she wasn’t wearing gloves. Wants desperately to feel the warm heat of him. 

Tearing herself away from the moment, Claire prepares the lidocaine injection. Out of habit more than anything, she tries to keep him talking through the process. Brad, for his part, sees what’s coming and is unconcerned.

“You don’t even really have to—” He waves at the anesthetic with his right hand.

“What?! Brad, this is going to hurt!” She knows there’s a scandalized look on her face. Okay, she is deeply attracted to his utter maleness, but if he is one of those guys who thinks he’s too good for proper pain management then she might have to rethink those feelings.

“Nah,” Brad shrugs, his indifference morphing quickly to apology as he jostles his injury. “I have so much nerve damage in my hands, can’t hardly feel a thing.”

Claire shakes her head. She has a feeling that’s a long story but is just pleased to know he isn’t being stubborn. She proceeds with the injection. “This is deep. It will hurt.”

Brad affects some sort of indecipherable accent as he says, “Pain don’t hurt!”

Rolling away from him, Claire gives him a questioning look. She disposes of the needle as she waits for the lidocaine to take effect.

“ _Road House_.” Brad’s eyes widen as Claire barely reacts. “You know, Patrick Swayze as the bouncer who rips a guy’s throat out? One of the best action movies of all time?”

A vague memory clicks into place for Claire. “Oh, yeah. I think I’ve seen that.”

Brad makes a disgusted noise. “There’s no _thinking_ you’ve seen it. Claire, you have to watch it! It’s so great. Actually. This is kinda like that scene from the movie. Ya know, ol’ Patrick gets knifed in the bar and he goes to the ER and the sexy doctor stitches him up.” Brad laughs to himself. “Pain don’t hurt!”

Claire isn’t quite sure if he’s getting extra jittery from the lidocaine or if he’s just always like this. She focuses her attention on getting his hand adjusted just so, pointedly ignoring the part of the comment where he called her sexy. “I really do think I’ve seen that before.” She gives his finger an experimental poke with the needle and, when he doesn’t react, she deems it safe to proceed.

“Okay, Claire,” Brad makes a full body gesture and Claire has to be sure he doesn’t move too much. She gives him a warning look, which he blatantly ignores. “We’re gonna need to boost up your Patrick Swayze references.”

“I’m a little busy here.” Claire just shakes her head at him and focuses on making a perfect first suture. Not that she wouldn’t do a careful, exacting job for any of her patients, but she wants this to be perfect.

“Saturday night in the ER! Hoo boy!” Brad shakes his head. She can feel his gaze instense on her and pointedly doesn’t look up at him. “I bet your boyfriend hates that!”

It’s so obvious that it makes her whole body clench in anticipation. Claire stills in her movements lest she botch a stitch. She takes a deep breath to steady her hand. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Her answering voice is much lower than anticipated.

“Oh,” is all Brad says in response, his voice also as low and quiet as it’s been tonight. From her vantage point, she can see his toe start tapping after a long moment of silence. “I, uh… I thought you were dating that other doc, the one with the nerdy glasses and like the hair?” He makes a strange gesture with his free hand.

Claire purses her lips and forces all her energy into her work. “Uh, Max? Yeah. We were. He took a fellowship in Vegas and I’m not exactly a desert person—”

“Ah…” Brad goes very still.

“Yeah, more like a _dessert_ person.” Claire’s mouth continues without her brain’s permission. She freezes mid suture and can’t help the sour look that overtakes her face. _Nice one, Saffitz_. If she weren’t a professional doctor in the middle of a procedure, she would surely smack her own self in the forehead. “Anyway. We broke up. Long distance and all.” She bites her lip and awaits her fate.

“Claire. That was a terrible joke.” Brad finally admits, clearly holding back a laugh. “I mean, _awful_.”

Claire just huffs and rolls her eyes. She gets back to work. As she leans over, her hair falls in a curtain over her face. “Dammit,” she mutters, annoyed she didn’t pull it back before starting.

“What? Oh god. Did you sew two fingers together?”

Claire snorts. “No.” She tosses her head a bit, hopes to flip the hair out of her face, and is not successful. “My hair is getting in my face. I forgot to pull it back.” Claire makes a frustrated noise. Since when does she forget _anything?_

“Oh!” Brad exclaims, loud and happy, “I can help with that!” Before Claire can protest, he uses his right hand to gather the hair off the back of her neck. She goes still. His fingers brush the sensitive skin, rough and warm, as he attempts to catch all the strands in his hand.

“Er…okay?” Claire is struggling to breathe and it throws her. His touch is so gentle and careful; it’s impossible to focus on anything else. She glances up at Brad. He is so focused on getting all of her hair enclosed in his right grasp without using his left that his face pinches up, his tongue poking the corner of his mouth. It’s isn’t attractive. But it isn’t...unattractive. Once he gets most of her hair out of her face, he gently tucks it into the collar of her lab coat. He pats the back of her neck once, a bit awkwardly, before retreating. 

“There.” His voice is soft, proud. Claire feels a rush of warmth from head to toe. 

“Thanks,” her voice is more of a whisper than anything. She blinks. Focuses on her sutures. She can feel his gaze on her, heavy and warm, but says no more. She has a job to do after all. 

A long quiet sets in as Claire finishes up the sutures. Brad watches her closely, his head occasionally bobbing into her light, always just a little too close into her space. Claire can eventually ignore it and completes the task. 

“Whoa, Claire!” Brad suddenly exclaims, very loudly, before she can tell him she’s done. “Nice job!

“Yeah?” Claire can’t help but beam; she’s always been a sucker for praise, even for a task she mastered years ago. 

“This is facial reconstruction level good. Not even gonna be a scar, I bet.” Brad lifts his hand, twisting and turning it in the light. Before she can protest, he’s snapped a photo of her work with, she’s certain, her smiling in the background like a fool. 

“Do I come back in to have you take the stitches out?” Brad is leaning way too far over into her space as she grabs his hand back so she can properly clean and wrap it for him. 

“You’re telling me you won’t take them out yourself two days before advised?”

“C’mon, Claire, I have a little more self-restraint than that.” Brad thinks about it. “Well. Not really. But I do have respect for your handiwork here. Plus, you know where I work.” He winks at her. 

Claire rolls her eyes. She hands him the aftercare instructions she knows he won’t read. “I’ll check it in a week. Try to keep it dry and bandaged for the next 24 hours. Might need to cool it on the woodworking for tonight.”

“But what if I want to come see you again?”

Claire’s breath catches in her chest. She’s never been good at flirting and Brad is clearly, clearly flirting with her. And the catch? She really wants him to. Doesn’t she? He’s gorgeous. And sweet and funny and makes her feel all warm inside… but he’s also, not her usual type? Claire hasn’t decided how she feels about that. Still, this little game feels too good to not keep playing. “Good thing you know where I work,” she replies, a bit of a bite to her words that makes Brad’s eyes darken. Not that she notices. 

They both startle at the quick knock on the door just as a blonde head pokes into the room. “Oh hey, Brad,” Molly’s eyebrows are already raised in judgment. She clears her throat. “I heard you were here. From a whole different state.” Molly’s pointed gaze shifts to Claire.

“Molly,” Claire warns, busying herself cleaning up her work station. “What’s up?”

“When you’re done here, you’re gonna want to come check on Room 2. Dynia is trying to reduce a shoulder dislocation on his own and it’s getting _loud_.”

“Okay, on my way,” Claire promises. She forces herself to look away. Ignoring Molly’s impatient pose in the doorway, Claire goes to finish up Brad’s chart. 

Brad chuckles. “Aw, Kev, it just takes a little finesse. Get that patient all nice and relaxed and then _pow_...pop that sucker in there.”

Molly’s face is totally blank as she stares at Brad. She gives him a long blink. “Ugh. Typical.”

“What?” Brad looks between them confused. 

Claire chokes back a laugh. “ _Nothing_.”

But Molly is undeterred. Waving a hand in the air, she explains, “I just mean, that’s a typical male approach to foreplay, isn’t it? Just pop that sucker in there?” She makes a noise of disgust as she reaches for the hand sanitizer. 

Now Brad looks borderline offended. “I said to get them all nice and relaxed first, Molly. Jeez. And if you really want to talk about foreplay—

“Oh my god!” Claire squeaks out. She can’t decide if it’s better to look at Brad (she’s getting a little dizzy thinking about his hands and foreplay…) or Molly (who looks altogether too pleased with the interaction.) “Really, I’m on my way now, Molly. Just finishing up the chart.”

Molly gives her an exaggerated, put upon sigh. Her ponytail swaying only serves to punctuate her glare. “On your way like _now_ before the patient’s shoulder gets dislocated in the other direction? Or like, on your way as soon as you and Brad stop making googly eyes at one other?” She shakes her head at both of them.

Claire’s face flames; she takes comfort in the clear flush on Brad’s cheeks as well as he shuffles his feet and avoids looking at either woman. 

“ _Molly_ ,” Claire hisses. A loud clang and screech from the general vicinity of Room 2 breaks the tension of the moment. “Motherfucker,” Claire groans and heads toward the door. “Molly, can you discharge him?”

Brad is watching her with undisguised amusement. He looks positively gleeful when she curses. “Good luck with that! Thanks again, Claire! Best stitches I ever got!”

“Bye, Brad,” Claire shoots him one last smile and hurries in the direction of certain chaos. As she exits, she hears Molly start her discharge procedures, her voice as threatening as Claire’s ever heard it. “So. Bradley. I’m gonna need a few more answers here…”

* * *

“My mom’s going to fucking kill me!” 

The kid has said it half a dozen times already. Claire shares a roll of her eyes with Chris Morocco, the on-call trauma surgeon. Claire’s work is mostly done, having stabilized their teenaged patient and determining he warranted a surgical consult. The kid keeps screaming and flailing though, clearly still highly agitated that his late night joyride resulted in a head-on collision. She gives the teen a cursory pat on his shoulder and tries to look as sympathetic as possible. He’s been in her ER for twenty minutes already and still with the hysterics. She has never been a fan of teenagers.

“Claire? Can you?” Chris shoots her a pleading look, his stethoscope dangling low as he maneuvers the ultrasound wand over their patient’s abdomen. Chris presses down into a tender area and it sets their patient off anew.

“Shiiiiit, man,” the kid cries. “Can you not?”

Chris snorts. “Listen, buddy, you possibly have internal bleeding so let me say you definitely, definitely want me to.”

“Oh shit. And I have my lacrosse tournament next weekend. Fuck!” The tears coming down the kids face are real, though, and Claire has sympathy for him. Even if he thought that at 16 he was equipped to drive his mother’s surely luxury sedan on the busy downtown streets. Claire murmurs words of comfort that go unheard to the kid. He barely even clocks her presence.

“Landon, my man! Are you still freakin’ out?” Brad’s large form is suddenly in the room and right in Landon’s line of sight. 

“Aw, dude! Please tell me what happened to the car!” Landon begins to cry all over again. Claire looks quickly between the patient and Brad, wondering if his presence isn’t a mistake after all. She wonders why Brad is even still here— shouldn’t they be out of the ER by now? Chris gives the whole situation a disapproving look as he continues with his assessment. Claire is trying to focus on Chris’ interpretation of the ultrasound monitor. She always likes to validate her own findings, make sure she didn’t miss anything. She likes to know she was correct. But Brad is pushing aside IV lines and monitors to get himself closer to the patient and it’s annoyingly distracting.

“Hey, okay bud, I’ll tell ya…” Brad’s voice gets quieter, softer, as he pulls a stool up and inserts himself right next to Landon’s head. He carefully adjusts the IVs to accommodate his presence, pops up the guardrail to the bed, then leans on it like he’s a long lost family member as he begins to talk down the kid. He stops screaming and swearing at least. Rick catches Claire’s eye from where he’s ordering labs on the computer and he winks at her. Claire looks away quickly. And back to Brad.

Their patient, Landon, is much calmer as Brad quietly fills him in on the facts he knows— the car is totaled, the cops will have it towed, he heard from the officers on scene no one else was hurt, and isn’t that what’s important? Landon’s mom is enroute and she’s just worried about him. Cars are replaceable, kids are not. It isn’t anything that the ER staff hasn’t said to Landon to de-escalate him, but in their hustle and bustle to treat him, Claire knows they didn’t really take the time to connect. But here sits Brad, when he should be off to the next crisis, leveling with this kid and keeping him calm. Her heart flips in her chest. 

Brad looks up at her then, eyes bright. He offers her a shy grin. She mouths a “thank you” at him and he just shrugs. 

“I’m liking what I see,” Chris decides and takes over at the computer to input his information. He sends Rick off with some additional orders. He turns to address Landon. “We’re going to run some more tests but, for now, I think we can treat this without surgery.”

Brad nudges Landon with his elbow. “Yeah, bud. Doc Moroc here knows his stuff!”

Claire tries not to chuckle at the face Chris makes. While she’s grown fond of Chris over the years, Dr. Christopher Morocco is not one for nicknames in front of patients.

“Yes. I do.” Chris makes an approximation of a smile and does a strange back-step out of the room.

Brad and Claire catch eyes and share a laugh.

“Landon, it sounded like your mom should be here shortly?” Claire prompts, clearing her throat. She wants to give Brad an out in case he needs to leave.

The teen sighs. “Yeah.” Then, stricken, he looks around. “Hey! Where’s my phone?”

“Here ya go, kid.” Brad doesn’t miss a beat, just hands him over his phone from a pile of clothing and things. “Grabbed it for ya. Good case, yeah? That fucker didn’t even crack!”

“ _Brad_ ,” Claire scolds with wide eyes and both men (boys?) laugh. 

Landon begins to scroll through his phone, looking cool and collected. Brad shrugs at Claire. “I can wait with him,” he says, kicking back and stretching his long body out in his chair. Claire forces herself to not take in his form and fails miserably. “My shift is over and Delany took the truck back to the station.”

“Oh.” Claire says in surprise. She’s never really known a paramedic to hang out with a patient before. “Okay…”

Brad gives her a curious look. “Is that cool?”

“Of course!” She takes a deep breath. Her pager goes off. A bit flustered, she grabs it and just waves at Brad and her patient. “I, uh, I’ll be back…”

As she reads the codes on the small screen, she hears Landon’s voice over her shoulder. “She is one hot doctor, right?” He barely finishes the statement before he lets out a little yelp.

“Show some respect, son.” The gruffness in Brad’s voice makes Claire smile as she leaves the room. She doesn’t look back.

* * *

Claire gets a moony smile from Landon and a sincere hug from his mother as she hands them off to the orderlies who will transport the teen to a room upstairs for observation. It doesn’t seem like he’ll need immediate surgery but he does need to be closely monitored and treated in the ICU for a few days to be sure the bleeding around his liver can be controlled. She promises to come visit him on her next shift. (She wonders how often she promises things like that versus how often she can follow through; she always has the best of intentions but then another Level 1 trauma comes rolling through the door.)

With a bone-deep sigh, Claire allows herself a yawn and a stretch and gives an idle consideration to what she might have for lunch. She grabbed some leftover chicken salad from her fridge but she’s fairly certain it’s past its expiration. Still, she has a full board of patients and anticipates a 20 minute window before she’s drowning in labs and residents with eager questions. Might as well try and get something in her stomach. She wonders if she still has her jar of peanut butter stashed in the fridge. That might work for now.

She finds her way into the workroom and the rich, delicious smell of marinara sauce and cheese assaults her nose. She groans. Actually groans.

“What’s up, Doc?”

She’s starving. She’s exhausted. She still can’t handle that joke.

And yet, she giggles. “What are you doing here still, Brad?”

She doesn’t know that a paramedic has ever really hung out in their staff workroom before but, in the middle of the night, rules are flexible and stranger things have happened. Brad is lounging on the ratty old couch that Gaby, their triage nurse, found at a thrift store down the street and enlisted a troupe of interns into carrying down the block and into their space. His long legs are propped up on the beat up Ikea coffee table that sits in front of it and Claire spares a thought to the beautiful redesign the public areas of the hospital just received.

“Eatin’ lunch.” He has a perfect, greasy slice folded up to his mouth and takes a bite. Claire’s mouth falls open and her stomach rumbles. Audibly. 

“Gotcha a slice, too, Claire!” He nods his head at the unopened triangle-shaped cardboard box on the coffee table. Claire might be in love.

Inhaling deeply as she opens the lid, Claire lets the delicious scent soothe her. It’s impossible to be stressed when enjoying a perfect slice, right? And it is _perfect_. Still piping hot, the perfect bubbly crust and sauce to cheese ratio. She groans again as she takes her first bite.

“Good, yeah?”

“Umm hmm,” Claire agrees, going back for more. It’s quite honestly the best piece of pizza she’s ever had. Now whether that is given to its miraculous appearance in her life or its taste or the way Brad’s staring at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen even as she chows down without shame. “This is amazing.”

“Scarr’s Pizza!” Brad gives an air toast with what’s left of his slice. “It’s not technically open at this hour but I know a guy.”

Claire can’t even dissect that now. She plops herself in a chair at the table and finishes her slice. Brad busies himself cleaning up after their dinners, throwing the containers in the garbage and wiping down the table when she drops a few crumbs (how considerate.) He fills up a paper cup from the water cooler and chugs it down. He fills up a second cup and hands it to her. Claire raises her eyebrow and wonders how often he makes himself at home here. She’s never seen him take a break here before but she supposes it’s not out of the realm of possibility. It’s as she’s savoring her last bite that she registers Brad’s finger. And its distinct lack of sutures.

Claire narrows her eyes. She quickly washes her hands, keeping her mouth shut as she makes a beeline for his hand. He’s parked by the door, fiddling with his phone. She grabs his left hand, yanking it into her view. He yelps.

“Brad!” She twists and turns his hand in hers. Some part of her brain registers the rough, calloused skin...how warm it is, how freely he gives himself over to her sudden attack. Most of her brain is focused on the sudden absence of her perfect sutures in the healing finger. 

“What?!” 

“Your sutures!” She gets a good grasp of his injured finger and instead of pulling him closer to her body for her to get a better look at it, she ends up somehow pulled closer to him. She presses and folds his fingers to get the one she wants and, as she does, she’s almost wrapping herself into his arms as she turns for a better angle. 

“Oh! _Hey_! Claire! Whatcha doing there?”

“Brad!” Claire huffs. They both still as she inspects his finger. The sutures have been taken out. The cut is healing well; it doesn’t look like the stitches came out too soon. But still. “I told you I would take them out!” It’s not strictly necessary but Claire pokes and prods at the healing wound. She hopes it hurts a little. She knows it doesn’t.

“I know!” Brad finally yanks his hand away and steps away from her. Claire feels the loss of his warmth acutely. “It’s not my fault.”

Claire raises an eyebrow at him. Crossing her arms over her chest is probably overkill, but she does it anyway. “Explain.”

“Ahhh…” Brad hems and haws for a moment. “I was on a shift with Baraghani last night. You know he’s an RN over at Lutheran, right? Just moonlights with us when he needs some excitement in his life. Anyway, we were bored and I lost a bet so I had to let ‘em.”

Blinking at him, Claire just purses her lips and stands up a bit straighter. “Well. Fine. It looks _okay_. I suppose.”

Brad’s lips curl up to reveal a toothy grin. “You suppose? Alrighty. Good. I was worried you were feeling a little territorial over those 10 perfect stitches, all perfectly spaced and perfectly even.”

“I’m _not_.” Those sutures _were_ perfectly space and perfectly even. Precise. Textbook. And removing them certainly _does_ take finesse and skill. Claire knows she’s pouting. She doesn’t care.

Brad laughs at her. Claire isn’t sure if she wants to smack him or kiss him or both. 

“I guess I have no choice but to make it up to you, then.” Brad suddenly gets a little more serious, leveling his gaze with hers. 

Claire’s breath stutters. Is she supposed to be serious too? Or let the banter continue? “Okay…”

“Yeah,” Brad nods, gaining a little more confidence. “I definitely owe ya a dinner not out of a cardboard box. Not that there’s much to complain about with ol’ Scarr’s Pizza. But a real dinner where we actually sit at a table and drink wine and talk. Maybe there’s even a candle on that table. I’m told I clean up pretty well, you know.” 

Claire finds herself nodding midway through his proposal of what ends up sounding like a real date. With Brad. “Okay.”

“Okay? Really?” Brad looks as happy as if she just agreed to give him a million bucks. Claire feels all warm and fuzzy at the response. “Fantastic! Wow! It’s...it’s a date! Right? Just checking.”

Claire isn’t sure why he’s so nervous. It makes her nervous. Like he’s asking her out at her locker in high school. Claire makes a face and laughs. “Yeah. _Yes_. It’s a date.”

Well. So this is happening. Claire blacks out a little as they exchange numbers. A few minutes later she finds herself talking to a patient and smiling and feeling like she’s on a cloud. A date. With Brad. The paramedic. Okay then.


	4. cover me up and know you're enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Cover Me Up" by Jason Isbell

Claire’s checking in with Priya when she hears the code called overhead. She sees a flurry of activity in and out of the resuscitation room, the faces of her colleagues telling her all she needs to know: it’s a bad one. Sohla is running the code, Claire knows, but she heads over in case more help is needed.

“Need anything?” She asks Rick as he works to get the ultrasound cart running. He’s on the edge of the controlled chaos, getting the next levels of care ready if they are needed. Sohla is in the process of intubating their patient, a young woman, barking out orders to Christina, Molly, and Rick. 

“Nah…” Rick sighs. “It’s not looking good. It’s Daisy, remember her?” 

Claire narrows her eyes, tries to see the face of their patient beneath the flurry of activity. She gets a hint of brown skin, the angle of a beautiful cheekbone, long eyelashes on a face far too young to be struggling so hard. It clicks. “Oh, no…”

“Yeah, I know,” Rick purses his lips. He is watching the proceedings carefully. Christina beckons him over and then he’s into the fray with the ultrasound machine as the team continues to work through their life saving measures. Claire registers the numbers on the machines automatically, hears the call for different medications, watches Molly push them into Daisy’s IV. Her body remains still and her heart rate begins to slow. _Shit_. Daisy is just a kid, twenty at most if Claire recalls correctly. She seems to bounce between family and friends, depending on her mood and whims. Every few months she lands in the ER with asthma gone unchecked and untreated. Every time she promises to follow up with her medications, find a primary care doctor at the very least, but it seems that last promise went unmet. 

Claire holds her breath as the team continues to work on Daisy. She doesn’t often pray or anything like that, but she sends up a hopeful thought for the young girl. She’s too young, her condition too treatable. The system is broken. Claire closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“C’mon, Daisy! That’s it, girl!” Sohla suddenly exclaims as Daisy begins to respond to the latest push of meds; her vitals slowly improve. Not enough to be anywhere near out of the woods, but there’s hope. 

Claire walks away at that. She has to let her colleagues do their job. She decides to get some fresh air; the ambulance bay calls to her for some reason. 

As she steps into the dark night, she comes across a scene that shreds her heart even further: Brad’s ambulance, back doors wide open, and bright white light spilling out onto the driveway. It looks like Brad just finished cleaning; the bus is restored to pristine order, a biohazard bag is tied and ready to be disposed of in the street. Brad is just sitting on the bench in the back of the truck, head in his hands. He doesn’t look up as Claire approaches.

“Brad?”

“Hey, Claire.” It’s so soft it hurts to hear. 

Claire bites her lip. “Are...are you okay?” He doesn’t look okay. He looks nothing like the Brad she is used to seeing, so big and always vibrating with energy. This Brad looks smaller, folded in on himself, eyes dark and quiet. 

“Not really,” he shrugs. Still, he gestures for her to join him. Claire takes a moment to assess the situation. She can’t say she’s been in the back of an ambulance very often and she doesn’t quite know how to navigate—

“Here.” Brad opens up a hand to her as she steps her bright blue clog onto the metal grill off the back of the truck. His grip engulfs her hand. Before she can even grab onto the railing on the door to help leverage herself up, he’s pulling her to sit next to him on the bench. She practically tumbles into him.

“Oop, okay,” she giggles more out of nervousness than anything as she sits next to him. It feels so close, intimate, and far too quiet. Brad doesn’t release her hand. He keeps it tucked into his large palm, his thumb running up and down her wrist. It relaxes her. 

“How is she?” He doesn’t look at her, just studies their entwined hands. Claire has the instinct to lean into him, maybe rest her head on his shoulder; it’s just right there after all. But they haven’t even been on a date yet. How is it that she feels so comfortable around him?

“Daisy?” Claire isn’t sure why she clarifies; she knows. She squeezes his hand. “She coded twice, I think. But she was hanging in there last I saw.”

Brad nods. He abruptly releases her hand and goes for his hat, ripping it off his head and crunching it in his hands. “Shit. Okay.” His voice cracks a little. “It wasn’t looking good out here… God, Claire, no matter what we did, I couldn’t get her lungs to loosen up. I thought.... I thought…” His face darkens, his eyes tearing up a bit. 

Claire knocks her knee into his. Gets him to meet her gaze. “I’m sure you did your best. She was alive when she got here.”

“She’s just a kid, ya know?” Brad sniffles a bit and scrubs a hand across his face. 

“She’s been with us a few times already…” Claire offers up, though she knows that can’t be much consolation. Sometimes a case just hits you sideways. She’s been there before. Usually she holds it in until she gets home, then either finds herself crying in the shower or going for an extra long run. On really bad days, she spends her morning taking her stress out on bread dough. 

Nodding, Brad exhales and leans back against the wall of the truck. His boot taps out a rhythm on the metal floor. “Yeah. I brought her in just last month again. She’s had a rough go of it, ya know? Her mom sounds like a piece of shit, keeps kicking her out of the house for every little thing, and she loses track of her meds couch hopping with friends. She is a good kid, though. Wants to be a tattoo artist. I promised her I’d be her guinea pig if she would just keep track of those meds. Fuck.”

Claire doesn’t know what to say. She’s never been good with this part. And seeing Brad out here, feeling all this? When he still has hours to go on his shift? Her heart clenches. “Maybe she’ll pull through again.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced. Brad is picking at a scab on his hands, then adjusting his shirt. Never quite still. Claire isn’t sure what she should be doing.

She exhales. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been very good at this part.”

That stops him. His hands come to rest on his knees, he looks up at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Whaddya mean?”

With a shrug, Claire folds her arms across her chest. Part of her wants to take his hand in hers again, offer at least the comfort of touch. But intimacy has never come quickly or easily to her and she is hesitant to take that step. “Feeling these moments.” She pauses, considers her words. “Being vulnerable. Usually I just start snapping at the residents.”

A little light comes back into Brad’s eyes. “I can see that.” He opens his palm to her again. It feels like a far greater gesture than it appears to be. Claire lowers her hand onto his, watching as he enfolds her smaller hand in his completely. His touch is comforting, addictive. “I appreciate you being here with me. I just needed to sit with that for a minute, before we’re on to the next one. I sent Delany off for sandwiches.”

It’s a healthy approach, she thinks. Claire had an attending tell her that once— to take that moment, give the patient the respect they deserve, and then move on. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Nah,” Brad says with a sigh. Then he seems to reconsider. He looks at her slyly. “Well actually…” 

Claire knows he isn't serious. Still, she briefly considers it with a lick of her lips. Brad’s eyes drop to her mouth. She watches him take a sharp breath. It fills her with confidence. “Braaaad,” she laughs and it sounds light and teasing even to her own ears. It makes him laugh at least.

“Okay, okay,” he concedes, dropping her hand so he can hold his up in surrender. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.” He looks past her and shakes his fist in the air. Surprised, Claire turns to see Delany returning to the ambulance at an easy pace, holding a greasy paper bag aloft. “Delany,” Brad growls out even as a smirk curls his lips.

“He certainly has impeccable timing.” Claire waves her hand in greeting as she stands to leave. She needs to get back inside anyhow.

Brad rises to stand behind her but before she can turn to talk to him, Delany is at the ambulance door and offers out a hand for her to step down to the street. Claire takes it.

“Hey, watch it, bub,” Brad grunts out. Claire gives him a quick glance and grins when she sees the dark look on his face. Catching her expression, Brad grumbles some more to himself and tries to look contrite at being possessive but fails miserably. Jealousy isn’t a great look on anyone but she kind of likes this harmless bit of fun. 

“Thank you, Alex,” she says far too sweetly when her feet are on solid ground again. 

“ _Alex_? Un-fucking-believeable.” Brad hops out behind her. She feels the warm press of his hand to the small of her back and leans into the touch. She shoots Brad an innocent look and his eyes go even darker. 

Delany laughs and tosses the greasy bag at Brad. “Hiya, Claire.” Then, off the exaggerated scowl on Brad’s face, he turns away with a wave. “And bye for now, it seems.”

“That kid, I swear…” 

Claire turns into Brad’s touch. His palm doesn’t move, grazing along her waist as she turns, fingers sure and steady as he keeps her in his orbit with just the gentle pressure of his hand. They stand there, watching each other a long moment, his fingers curling into the side of her lab coat.

“Are you going to be okay?” Claire finally asks. She isn’t sure what to do with her hands. The urge to touch him is overwhelming. She settles for picking imaginary lint off of his uniform before giving up that ghost and smoothing her hand over his shoulder. The sheer size of him under her touch is overwhelming. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Brad shrugs and gives her hip a squeeze. His hand takes up significant real estate on the curve of her hip; she shivers, craving more. “Can you….do you think you can keep me posted? On Daisy?”

Claire nods. The levity of that request has her stepping back and away from him and her lust-clouded mind. Now is definitely not the time for that. “Of course. I’ll call you when I get off my shift?”

Brad nods his agreement and leaves her with one final, heavy look. “Talk later, Doc.”

* * *

She gets the text from her friend, Rhoda, in the ICU as she’s riding the subway home after her shift: Daisy didn’t make it. Claire feels her eyes well up. She glances around the subway car; it’s crowded with people headed off to start their day, sipping their coffee and reading the news. Their days are just beginning, full of hope and possibility or maybe just the mundane. They haven’t exhausted themselves taking care of the sick all night. They haven’t just received the terrible news that all that time and effort and caring still couldn’t save the life of a young woman. 

Claire’s finger hovers over Brad’s information in her phone, mulling over what to say. He’s probably on his way home, too, if he got off his shift on time, and her heart aches to imagine him reading the news in a text message, alone on the ferry. Without her there to hold his hand again. Besides, they’ve only been texting a little the past few days, mostly making plans for their date. A sudden shift in tone feels wrong.

Claire decides she can call him once she’s home and settled. That will have to do.

But back at home, she showers and makes herself breakfast and a coffee (ill-advised knowing she is going to have to sleep soon, but necessary to combat her sudden headache.) She is flying out to Chicago that evening for her interview at Rush, something that is fast approaching and yet feels a world away. She makes quick work of packing an overnight bag with her interview suit and other essentials, texting her friend Ken to remind him of her flight information. She’ll be staying with his family for the night. 

She should text Brad. She should _call_ Brad. She also needs to review the interview materials she’s been prepping— her vitae, her portfolio, stacks of research papers from the Rush faculty. But that’s somehow the last thing on her mind.

She needs to tell him. She wants to see him. She imagines him as she saw him in the ambulance early, so silent and still. Broken.

She texts him:

_Can I come over?_

The three little dots on her screen taunt her for minutes. She stares at them intently. She can’t make herself lock her phone or walk away. She just waits.

Finally, his address pops up on her screen followed by _i’ll be out back_. 

Taking a deep breath, Claire tries to quell the eruption of butterflies in her stomach. Okay. Okay, she can do this. Just randomly go to a guy’s house in New Jersey when she really should be sleeping or at least prepping for her big interview. 

Before she can second guess her choice, Claire brushes her teeth, throws on some lip gloss and mascara, and, what the hell, gathers up all the stuff for her trip. Twenty minutes later, she’s in a Lyft and crossing state lines. It sounds illicit. It _feels_ illicit. Something so unlike her. 

But she wants to be there for him. Desperately. 

Her Lyft pulls up to a cute two flat with an inviting front porch and lots of windows. The first floor apartment windows reveal a veritable jungle of green and Claire has a sneaking suspicion it’s Brad’s place. Following his directions, she makes her way to the back yard through a rusty gate and narrow gangway. When she emerges into the backyard, she finds herself thoroughly transported. The yard isn’t like anything she’d find in Manhattan. It’s all grass and lush, overgrown landscaping. A half dozen wood planters are strategically placed in the yard, full of fresh dirt and little sprouts of green. There’s a fire pit, cozy looking chairs scattered around, and the fanciest looking grill equipment Claire has ever seen. It’s beautiful and inviting. A home. 

“Movin’ in?” 

Claire startles at the voice behind her. She whirls around to see Brad approach her, a bright grin on his face as he takes her in. Claire squints up into the sun as she takes him in— he’s clearly been working in the yard, his clothes and skin wear smatterings of dirt and sweat. His tan skin glistens in the sun. Claire’s heart thuds hard in her chest. Her mouth goes dry. 

She clutches the handle of her overnight bag self-consciously. “I, uh, I’m actually flying out to Chicago later today. Just for the night to...uh, visiting an old friend. And his husband. And, um, their kids.” She isn’t sure why she stumbles over her explanation. She just doesn’t want to get into explaining the job interview. Brad doesn’t seem to register it though. He just nods. 

Grabbing a ratty old beach towel, Brad scrubs up his hands and face. Claire doesn’t let her gaze linger on his strong arms or the pull of cotton across his shoulders. She definitely, definitely doesn't. Shaking her head, she parks her stuff close to a weather-beaten picnic table.

“Can I grab you a drink?” He offers, taking a big gulp out of his own water jug. Claire just stares and shakes her head. An awkward silence stretches between them. “Let me give you the grand tour…” He finally says, presenting the space with a sweep of his arms. 

Claire dutifully follows him around as he shows off the planters he’s made for his vegetable and herb gardens. He leads her over to his current project— his tomato plants in their own bed just next to a small, crumbling shed. Claire enjoys hearing all these insights into the garden he clearly has so much passion for; she can barely keep her two houseplants alive. But her brain gets stuck on when to tell him. Because they both know why she’s here.

“She didn’t make it, did she?” Brad trails off in the middle of his explanation of his special blend of composted potting soil. His words are soft and hesitant.

“No. I’m sorry, Brad.” Claire watches him carefully for a reaction. He just nods, staring off into space.

“I figured,” he sighs. “Not much reason else for you to trek all the way out here.”

A blush spreads across Claire’s cheeks. “It isn’t exactly a trek.” Honestly, it wasn’t much farther than her commute to work and definitely less hassle than getting to her friends in Brooklyn.

“Claire. You brought luggage.”

They both giggle at that. 

“Okay, fine…” Claire takes a deep, fortifying breath. “I just really wanted to see you.”

Brad’s whole face lights up. “Yeah?”

Claire nods, biting back her own smile. 

“Well then the least I can do is make the lady my coffee specialty.” Brad can’t seem to stop grinning. He rubs the back of his neck as he directs those baby blues at her and Claire warms from the inside out. The spring sun is high in the sky; it’s a perfectly beautiful day. But it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze on her face. She doesn’t want coffee. Not at all. 

It hits her how much she needed this, him, for herself.

“Brad…” It comes out all breathy. His face pinks up. Claire licks her lip. Swallows hard. “I don’t need coffee.”

“Oh.” He just stares at her, a bit dumbstruck. 

Seduction has never been Claire’s strong suit. But the way Brad is looking at her is all the hint she needs that a move on her part won’t be unwelcome. So she goes for it. In one stride, she’s pushing up on her tip-toes and grabbing at his neck, pulling him down to her. Their lips connect and heat, heavy and thick, washes through her body. It’s not a gentle kiss. It flashes hot and intense, a sudden explosion of desperate desire as she gets her first taste of him. She wants more. His tongue licks at her mouth and she allows him the access, kissing him back with all she has. He stumbles forward as she grabs at him, her hands scratching at his damp t-shirt. She loses her balance and she doesn’t realize how literal that is until she’s suddenly crushed up against the wooden shed. His hands are on her hips, lifting her up like nothing, as he continues to kiss her. She wraps her legs around his waist, urging his body closer into hers, adjusting their fit. Claire needs air; she’s dizzy and lost. But his body is hot and solid under her hands and she just wants more, more, _more_ …

“Fuck, Claire…” he gasps as she nips at his lip. He growls into her kiss and answers back with a graze of his teeth across her jaw, down her neck. She tips her head to the side, encouraging him. The breeze is cool on her impossibly heated skin. It feels glorious. His rough hands find their way up under her shirt, dragging across the sensitive skin of her belly, seeking out her aching breasts. She whimpers when he swipes a thumb over the edge of the cup of her bra. Digs her fingernails into his shoulders.

“Brad,” she groans, grinding down against where she feels him, already thick and hard, against her center. He grunts and goes back to her mouth, kissing her deeply.

His hand suddenly stills on her cheek as he pulls back to look at her. She is breathing heavily. Her eyes blink slowly. _Damn_.

“I’m gettin’ you all dirty, babe.” He brushes tenderly at her cheek, his eyes dark and a bit wild. 

Claire can’t help but laugh. It is loud and wanton and makes him laugh too, a low hearty rumble that she feels against her body. She tilts her forehead to rest against his. Kisses him on the tip of his nose. “I don’t care.”

His hand finds its way into her hair, weaving into the strands, and tugging her mouth back into his. She grips her legs harder around his waist, loves his answering thrust up into her. “Wanna take this inside?”

“Mmm, I suppose,” she answers between kisses. It’s probably a good idea but she isn’t exactly thinking clearly right now. He lets that be answer enough and steps back so she slides down against his body; they both groan at the contact. She is frustratingly wobbly on her feet.

They make their way inside his house between stolen kisses. Brad manages to scoop up her luggage all in one hand as he won’t let go of her other hand. Claire follows him inside, grabbing onto his one hand with both of hers, making sure to fully appreciate her rear view as she trails behind him. The man has a nice ass. They barely make it into the living room before they are all over each other, tearing off clothes in a frenzied need.

It’s a long while later before they even find the bed. 

* * *

Staring out the small window of the airplane at the clouds below, Claire knows she should be mentally practicing interview questions and reviewing her research. Instead, her mind can’t stop floating to other things— the pleasant soreness in her body, the constant thrum of her nerve endings so recently taken to the brink. She can still feel the scruff of his beard on her thighs, her neck. Her lips are chapped and thoroughly used. She can’t keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. Every time she closes her eyes, she imagines he’s right there with her. Just a touch away.

But she’s on a plane to Chicago. Running on little sleep and the buzz of truly excellent sex and the one really delicious coffee that Brad made for her to sip on the drive to the airport.

Yeah. He _drove_ her to the _airport_. 

Claire smiles at nothing. She idly plays with her phone in her hands. She’s half-tempted to pay for the in-air WiFi so she can text him. Or maybe text Molly or her sisters or anyone to just relive the past few hours of her life. Though...she kind of likes the idea of keeping it all to herself right now. 

Is she crazy? Still going to Chicago?

Of course not. She knows this. Whatever just happened was one, well, morning. Brad texted her before she could even make it past security that he missed her smile and that they would talk soon. This isn’t going to be a one and done thing. She knows this. But they still haven’t even been on a date. She isn’t the type of woman who changes her whole life plan based on a man. In fact, in the past, she’s actively done the opposite. 

(Max had asked her to move to Vegas with him. She refused immediately. That was not in her plan. They tried long distance. She’d loved him after all. But their calls and texts slowly drifted further and further apart and...well, she must not have loved him that much then after all. When he called her to make their breakup official, even trying to take the blame for becoming interested in a nurse on his shift, she could hardly bring herself to shed a tear. Max was a good guy. But he was just a guy.

Something tells her Brad could never be just a guy. And that vague thought is terrifying.)

Chicago is a great possibility for her career. It’s what she wants— an urban job, busy shifts in the emergency department balanced with the slower, more methodical pace of academia. She can make a name for herself in the field. She has ideas and questions and so many things she wants to accomplish. 

Going to Chicago is the right move. It’s looking ahead to her future, all her plans and goals.

So why can’t she stop thinking about what she just left behind?


	5. an inch is a canyon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken on a life of its own! I have the next two chapters drafted and, with the rest outlined, I estimate 10 chapters total but...who knows, really? Sometimes (always) I am too wordy for my own good. Anyway, as a girl who normally thrives on fluff, I apologize in advance for the bumpy road ahead but know there's a happy ending awaiting. Life is too crazy right now to not know that! 
> 
> Thanks again to my lovely betas! Chapter title is from the song "Canyon" by Joseph.

They finally get to have their first date three days after Claire returns from Chicago. She tries to put the interview out of her mind. It goes well, as expected, but they have a long search process. While she’s left with a good feeling and assurances she’s a top candidate they will continue to explore, she won’t know more for weeks. 

It helps that the night she gets back, she crashes for a few hours then wakes up to texts from Brad asking if she wants to meet up for breakfast after he gets off his shift. She invites him over to her place instead, promising crepes and coffee. That is how she ends up sleeping with Brad for the second time before their first date. 

It is kind of endearing how apologetic Brad is about things: “I swear, Claire, I’m going to take you on an amazing date. I promise.” She assures him she doesn’t care. Having his (as she’s learned) very talented hands get her off in the shower after he eats the breakfast she made him is a perfectly wonderful date, in her mind. 

Still, once their nights off line up, he delivers on the promised date. He meets her at a cozy, romantic restaurant tucked below street level on the outskirts of Little Italy. Of course, he knows the owner— Brad was the responding paramedic when he’d had a heart attack while out sightseeing with his grandkids. Giorgio fusses over them all night in a way that has Brad constantly blushing and tugging at his button-down shirt. Claire finds it endearing, how he clearly hasn’t exploited Giorgio’s generosity with a host of women before her. They aren’t allowed to order or pay for anything. Giorgio keeps them full and tipsy, giving them space to talk and flirt but popping over now and again to share stories of his restaurant and checking to make sure they haven’t had better linguini and clams in their lifetime. (Claire hasn’t.)

They close down the restaurant, lingering over panna cotta and conversation. Claire realizes how much they haven’t just talked to one another. Brad has the best stories to share. Whether or not the actual story is good, he tells it with such heart and enthusiasm, Claire can’t help but be charmed. She wants to know more about him. She wants to know _everything_. And they talk and talk and laugh until Giorgio is gently prompting them out the door. He doesn’t let them pay but Claire notes the stack of bills that Brad leaves behind on the table anyway. Giorgio hugs and kisses both of them and makes them promise to return for every anniversary. In her giddy wine haze, Claire promises with a smile that they will. 

* * *

Claire finishes discharging a very pleasant family with a five year-old who took a spill off of his top bunk in the middle of the night. Little Justin ended up needing nothing more than Tylenol for the mild headache he had— no concussion, no broken bones— just a few freaked out parents and a very resilient kiddo. She sends them off with stickers and a hug for Justin and an order for the parents to make sure they get a better guard rail for the restless sleeper. 

The night moves along at an easy, predictable rhythm. Claire hums to herself as she checks the virtual board and signs off on some treatment plans— rule out chest pain, recurrent vomiting, two head lacerations, and a man who is convinced he has cyanide poisoning from ingesting cherry pits. Claire puts a note in the chart for Kevin to make sure he runs that one by the mental health team.

“Someone’s happy tonight,” Molly observes with a wink as she comes up to the nurse's station. 

Claire shrugs, but can’t hide her smile. She _is_ happy. It’s a good shift so far. And she’s just been… _happier_ lately. 

She won’t pretend to not know why.

“Speaking of Claire’s annoyingly good mood,” Rick teases, “there was this delicious lumberjack-esque paramedic looking for you, Claire. He’s in the workroom.”

“Timmmber!” Molly fake yells to the ER. A patient yells shut up from a room in the distance. 

Claire just shakes her head, finishes up her work for the moment, and logs off the computer. “Excuse me. Seems like I have better places to be.”

Molly just nods in appreciation. “Take your time, Saffs. We’ll hold down the fort.”

“Don’t take too much time, though,” Rick warns. “There’s a very cranky woman in 2. Hasn’t had a BM in a few days.” 

“Lovely. Got it.”

Opening the door to the workroom, it takes Claire a second to register Brad’s presence. He’s ducked behind the open refrigerator door. A smirk works its way onto her lips as he bobs his head up and down, talking to himself as he pilfers through their food. She hears cartons shifting, a few mumbled swear words, and then one really loud “fuck” when he bumps his head on the freezer.

Claire rolls her eyes. She thought he wanted to see her? Not steal someone’s leftovers. Crossing her arms, she waits for him to notice her. 

“Claire!” He stands clear of the freezer door this time, slamming the fridge door shut. He gives the back of his head a sheepish rub as he grins at her. Claire tries to muster up some annoyance at being ignored but the pure light in his face makes her melt. 

“Hey Brad.” It’s been a few days since they’ve seen each other; conflicting shifts have made more than texting impossible. “I thought you were looking for me but…”

“But?” He offers her a crooked smile, leaning back against the closed fridge as if he has all the answers. 

Claire pouts. “But you’re digging through the fridge! Scavenging for a snack!”

“Oh, _Claire,_ I’m looking for a snack alright,” he leers and jerks his head, beckoning her over. There is a dangerous glint in his eye. Claire can’t resist the invitation. She practically runs at him. It’s only been a few weeks, a handful of nights together, and yet she _misses_ him. Misses the way he smells and his hands on her body and the stunning heat they generate together. 

Kissing him. She really misses that. 

He catches her by the hips as she nears him, spinning her and crowding her against the fridge. They crash into each other, lips and teeth and tongues. It’s not a workplace friendly kiss but Claire doesn’t care. She tastes him for the first time in days (mint and herbal tea) and goes dizzy with it. She’s gripping his neck. Pulling him down to her as she pushes up to him. His hands fist into her scrubs, grabbing her closer. Days of pent up longing pours into the kiss. 

“Missed you, Doc,” Brad mumbles into her cheek when they break apart for air. He settles to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug. Claire sighs into his chest. She wishes the rest of the world would just melt away for a few minutes. After a deep inhale, she tilts her head up at him and smiles.

“I’m not the one that picked up an extra shift,” she reminds him, scratching lightly at his beard. 

He nuzzles into her touch. “Shit, if I woulda known I’d have better things to do last month when I agreed to it, woulda told Baraghani to fuck right off.” Turning his head, Brad nips at her thumb. Claire gasps. Brad’s eyes darken. “Would rather be fuckin’ you, babe.”

“ _Brad_.” It’s more a whimper than anything as his hands are in hair, mussing it all up as he kisses her deeply. Something about his dirty mouth gets her going, heat licking low in her belly. She should not be turned on this much at work but, holy shit, when his hips thrust into hers like that and his hands are on her ass and she can’t stop her own greedy hands from touching him all over… “ _Oh_!” 

She shoves him away. Hard. She blinks away the lust, wipes her mouth, and hopes her hair isn’t completely insane. 

“Gabriella!” Brad somehow does not look at all embarrassed to be busted making out against a hospital refrigerator though there’s a clear flush in his cheeks and he discretely pulls her back in front of his body. “How ya doin’, bud? But Gaby, their triage nurse, isn’t looking at Brad, nor does she respond. She has her eyes covered with one hand and waves them on with the other. “Sorry to interrupt you two! I just need my leftovers!”

“Oh, Gaby, I’m sorry! We shouldn’t have been—” Claire supposes if anyone had to catch them, Gaby is the best option. She is kind and sweet and unlikely to go telling everyone that one of their attendings was just getting felt up in the workroom.

“Do not worry!” She holds up her hand with a smile. She gives them a teasing peek from between her fingers before uncovering her eyes. “If you could just hand me the glass container with the green lid.”

“On it!” Brad exclaims and, apparently somewhat recovered, steps out from behind Claire to dig in the fridge. Claire takes a deep breath. Between Gaby’s easy demeanor and Brad’s nonreaction, she feels a little less mortified. Still. That can’t happen again. What was she thinking? (She definitely wasn’t.) A moment later, Brad emerges with Gaby’s food and hands it over with a wink. “For my favorite triage nurse.” 

“Brad, you are the sweetest!” Beaming, Gaby gives him a little pat on the shoulder as she accepts her food. Brad gives her an ‘aw shucks’ look in return. Claire watches in amusement. She wonders how Brad and Gaby even became acquainted as their jobs rarely require interaction. But as she’s gotten to know Brad, that seems to be his thing— genuinely friendly and interested in everyone. “Did you ever try my empanada recipe?”

“Sure did! Delicious! Top notch! ‘Course not as good as the originals but I think I did alright.” As he’s talking with Gaby, Brad runs a gentle hand down Claire’s back, almost as if reassuring her he’s still aware of her. A wave of affection crashes over Claire as she leans into him. 

“Claire! He’s a keeper,” Gaby declares, a triumphant fist sealing her words. With a wink and a few more encouraging declarations, she leaves them alone again. 

“Oh my god,” Claire covers her face with her hands and turns into Brad, leaning her forehead on his bicep. “I can’t believe I was busted making out at work!”

Brad shrugs. “At least it wasn’t your boss.”

Claire mentally imagines Rapo walking in. She groans. Brad pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. 

“What do your next few days look like?” Brad asks.

Lifting her face so she can look at him, Claire studies his face, the curves and planes of it becoming so familiar. “Let’s see…after tonight, I’m actually off through the weekend.”

Brad kisses the tip of her nose. “Well, it’s fate then, Claire. I’m off through Sunday after this shift. Spend the weekend with me?”

Claire starts to smile, but then remembers— “Oh shit! I forgot. My friend, Rhoda, is having a birthday get together tonight. I said I’d stop by.”

“Great! That sounds fun!” Brad’s face is all lit up until he registers hers; Claire hates that. His face falls. “But...well, yeah, maybe we can just meet up after? I don’t want to invite myself—

“It’s not that,” Claire insists. Brad’s grip on her loosens and he pulls back a bit. She frowns. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come… It’s just that…” She’s floundering for words. This isn’t like her. It’s not that she doesn’t want him to meet her friends. Hell, half the emergency department knows they have been dating. But these are some of her real, true friends. Rhoda was assigned as her mentor when she started at St. Vincent’s and she’s become a good friend since. Introducing Brad to her, and her other doctor friends, feels so official. 

“Nah,” Brad steps back even further and has the nerve to look like a kicked puppy. “It’s cool. I get it.”

Pouting, Claire tries to assess where this went wrong. “It’s just that we haven’t been dating for very long at all—

Brad gives her a strange look. “It’s just drinks with your friends, Claire. I’m not asking to like meet the parents or anything.”

“No, I know,” she insists. She tries to imagine Brad hanging out with her friends. It’s not hard. Brad gets along with everyone, every patient and doctor and family; she’s never seen him have someone so much as snipe at him. So what’s her hold up? She knows he’s right. Friends bring their dates around all the time, whether or not it means anything long-term. She takes a deep breath. “You really want to go?” And maybe that’s it. Not bringing him around, but him wanting to be around. That feels like a lot.

“I want to spend time with you, Claire,” Brad says with utter sincerity. “And the people that you care about. I mean, if you like ‘em, they gotta be good people right?”

Claire would like to think so. She grins. “Yeah. Yeah, they are. Okay, then. I’ll text you the address. 8 o’clock?”

“Sounds like a date,” he agrees, sealing it with a kiss. “Oh! I almost forgot. I brought ya something. For the record, I was not stealing food from the fridge. For Christ’s sake, what kinda guy do you think I am? Stealing someone’s lunch? That’s the worst kind of crime!”

Claire just giggles as Brad goes back into the fridge and pulls out a glass container of his own. In bright green painter’s tape on the blue lid is “Good eats for Doc Saffitz” written in barely legible scrawl and a little heart next to her name. Claire looks up at him with wide eyes.

Brad shrugs. “Had the day off yesterday and was messing around with the smoker. I brought you some chicken with my own special recipe sauce that is, if I can say it, _fantastic_ and some grilled veg. Thought you could use a real meal and not whatever sad salad you grabbed in the cafeteria.”

“Brad…” She’s not going to cry. She’s not. It’s just food. He made. For her. 

“Yeah. Well. Anyway… That’s for you, Doc. If anyone tries to steal it, lemme know. I’ll mess ‘em up real good.” He winks at her and Claire doesn’t believe he would do that for a second. “Didn’t realize you had those kind of shady characters working here.”

Overcome, she stands up on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you, Brad. Truly.”

“Geez.” He pulls back, a dazed look on his face. “If I’da known a long time ago that all I had to do was bring you food to win your heart…”

Claire just chuckles. He isn’t totally wrong.

* * *

No matter how much she tries to deter him, Brad insists on meeting her at her apartment so they can take a Lyft to the bar together. 

(“Claire, what kind of date would I be if I met you there? These are fancy doctor people. I gotta impress ‘em!”

“Brad, at our last get together, Chris Morocco drank so much whiskey he stood up on a pool table and started singing Rocket Man at the top of his lungs. It was not karaoke night.”

“Ah! Doc Moroc! Still, I don’t know anyone there. What if I’m early and have to start chatting everyone up on my own?”

Claire concedes the point as she’s rarely on time for that exact reason. Though if it were her she’d probably just hide in the bathroom until Brad arrived.)

It’s true. Brad won’t really know anyone. Usually he’s out the door before Rhoda or Carla arrive on scene and Chris he only really sees in passing. Claire herself doesn’t know many of the people attending so she actually is kind of glad to have Brad there as a social shield and excuse to leave if it gets too draining.

Yet, while she considers herself mostly a homebody, Claire does enjoy getting dressed up and going out now and again. It’s nice to wear something other than sweatpants or scrubs. Tonight, she takes the time to blow out her hair, apply a little more make-up than usual, and put on one of her favorite dresses. Brad arrives exactly on time and with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in simple brown paper. 

“Picked ‘em up at the farmer’s market this morning,” he shrugs. “Pretty flowers for a pretty woman.”

“Brad,” Claire flushes. “You didn’t have to…” She’d be the first to say that she doesn’t really care about this kind of stuff, this old fashioned chivalry. Logistically, it makes more sense for them to meet at the bar; she doesn’t need flowers that are going to just die in a few days. But these little ways that show her he cares don’t seem to be just checking the boxes of a good date. Brad wants her to be happy. Full stop. No ulterior motives. It’s startling to think that she isn’t sure she’s had that before. 

Shuffling around by the door, Brad is careful not to step past the rug she has there (she hates shoes on her floor). Felix bounds into the room to greet the visitor and Claire is pleased when he begins to meow and wind his way through Brad’s legs.

“Hey there, little fella!” Brad leans down to scratch the cat between his ears. Claire rolls her eyes, trying not to be jealous that Felix seems happier to see Brad than he ever is to see her. 

“Let me just go put these in water.” But Brad is busy bonding with Felix so barely registers her delay. Claire hurries to snip the ends off the stems and shove them in the first vase she finds. She’ll worry about arranging them later. “Ready to go?”

Brad stands up, holds out his arms then gives an awkward spin. “Does this cut the mustard?”

Claire laughs. He looks unfairly attractive in his casual get up— a nice button down jean shirt, black pants, work boots, and his favorite black beanie. She’s come to learn his look is that effortless lumberjack style she’s seen many a man pay ridiculous money for. But Brad’s boots are worn, the calluses on his hands are earned, and no matter how much she has begged him, he refuses to leave the house without a hat. “You look great,” she promises, sealing it with a kiss.

“Nowhere near as good as you, babe,” he whistles as he takes her in. She tucks her hair behind her ears a bit self-consciously at his adoration. “That dress...wow.” 

“It’s nice to not wear scrubs for a change.” 

Claire refuses to let Brad order a Lyft but does accept Brad’s hand on their way out to the car. He doesn’t let go for their entire ride. She fills him in on the friends of hers that will be there, making him promise over and over again to tell her if he wants to leave.

“Claire. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a pretty easy going guy…”

“I know,” she sighs. “It’s just—

Brad leans over in the backseat to kiss her forehead. “How about this? Promise me you’ll let me know if you want to head out, okay? No matter what’s going on.”

Nuzzling into him, Claire agrees. 

Rhoda picks a great spot for her birthday drinks. It’s an up and coming bar with solid cocktails and good food, but nothing too fancy or crowded. Claire sips at her Aperol Spritz and slowly makes the rounds of small talk with vaguely familiar faces; Brad is a warm and comforting shadow at her side. After a few introductions, it becomes easy— Brad never lets there be the awkward pause of Claire having to explain their relationship (he’s not her boyfriend, right?) Instead he offers out a firm handshake and his name, loud and proud. His left hand always lingers, a light but possessive touch, on her back or shoulder. It’s subtle, but declares to all the status of their relationship— not boyfriend, but he’s there, with her. It weirdly makes the whole process much less painful than usual.

Finally she lands with her closest friends at the party, Rhoda and Carla, in their own little corner of the bar. Brad presses her third cocktail into her hand and she lets her guard down a bit as the four of them chat. Things are pleasant and hazy and she can’t remember the last time she mingled with her friends outside of work. Plus, Brad keeps looking down at her with these happy, shining eyes and it makes her heart feel full. She likes having him by her side. He fits. And she doesn’t want to think too much about that.

“Claire!” Carla raises her drink in a toast. “Look at you, honey, you’re glowing!”

Claire demures; she feels Brad lean in just a bit closer as he chuckles. “Must be the cocktails!”

“Or this tall drink of water,” Carla winks at Brad, giving him a not so subtle up and down. Some of her drink sloshes over the side of her glass and she cackles as she tries to catch it. 

“She’s right, Claire,” Rhoda jumps in, decidedly more sober despite it being her birthday. “You guys do make a lovely pair.”

Brad jumps in, to Claire’s relief. “Lemme tell ya. Standing next to Claire, any dope is going to look good.” 

Both of her friends are charmed. Claire just giggles and takes a long sip of her drink. 

Brad shakes his beer bottle to indicate its empty status and excuses himself toward the bar, though not before noting what each woman is drinking and who needs a refill. Claire unabashedly watches Brad go.

As soon as he’s gone, Carla pounces. “Alright, Claire, spill! All the details!”

“I don’t know…?”

Rhoda gives her a good-natured eye roll. “Let’s start with the basics. How long have you been dating? And why haven’t you told us?”

Claire bites her lip. “It’s not even really...official. He only asked me out like three weeks ago and, well, you know with our schedule how things go. We’ve only been on a few dates.”

“Dates, schmates,” Carla shakes her head and tosses back the last of her drink. “You have the aura of a woman who is not only getting well and truly laid, but there’s definitely a whole cartoon bird situation around you guys.”

“Yup,” Rhoda agrees. “Little bluebirds with hearts and ribbons flying around your heads.”

Claire spares a glance over at Brad, who’s still waiting for the busy bartender and chatting with a few cardiologists while he waits like he’s known them forever. Her stomach flips. She bites her lip. “I’m not exactly sure what that means. But, like I said, it’s very new. So don’t get any grand ideas. I’m not even sure if it’s more than, you know, a fling or whatever.”

“Oh, sweetie.”

Putting a comforting hand on Claire’s arm, Rhoda shakes her head. “Do what feels right to you, Claire, but just know that nothing in the way that man looks at you says fling.”

With a frown, Claire stares down into her drink. “I really like him. I do.” Even as she says it, it feels like a massive understatement. “But long-term, I just don’t know… He lives in New Jersey! Plus, there’s the Rush job hanging over my head.” 

Claire, of course, hasn’t advertised that fact to many. As her mentor, Rhoda is a key reference for her. Claire has spent many hours talking to Carla about her own career trajectory, as she is currently a faculty physician in cardiology at St. Vincent’s. They are both women she admires, whose careers she would be happy to emulate. But they also have lives outside of work. Families. 

Claire’s thought a lot about her career. She even knows that someday she’d like to get married and have kids. But even as her age has ticked up, she hasn’t felt that particular goal feel any more pressing; it’s always come secondary to her career, an afterthought. 

She wonders why now, after just a few weeks with Brad, it’s coming closer into view. 

Claire flicks her gaze over to Brad again. He’s waiting for their drink order now, chatting with the bartender as he mixes cocktails. Brad’s hands wave in the air as he talks; he seems to bounce with enthusiasm for whatever he’s saying. He’s nothing like the man she envisioned herself with in the future. But she can hardly bear to stop watching him.

“Claire,” Carla’s authoritative tone brings her back to earth. “Nothing needs to be decided tomorrow. Just enjoy yourself, okay? See where it goes!”

“Just seeing where it goes is not in my repertoire.” 

“So it’ll be something new!” Rhoda gives her an encouraging smile. “Claire, you put too much pressure on yourself to have all the answers. You know this. Chicago would be an amazing opportunity but, if it does happen, it won’t be the only one. Have you talked to Brad about it?”

A twist forms in Claire’s gut. “No.”

Carla shakes her head in gentle admonishment. “You really should at least bring it up. If you’re seriously considering it.”

The twist pulls into a tight knot. “Yeah. You’re right. But the thing is, I don’t even know if it’ll happen. They’re casting a wide net for candidates. I still haven’t even heard about the next steps in the interviewing process!” 

It sounds lame, even to her own ears. Rhoda and Carla’s faces leave no question to how they feel about that excuse.

“Ladies! Another round?” Brad suddenly interrupts, three full drinks balanced in his hands and his bottle of beer tucked into the crook of his arm. He accepts the cheers and praise from her friends. Claire can’t help but smile at him as she takes her drink. She does need to talk to him. But that makes this all very real, not just the happy little bubble they’ve found themselves in. And Claire isn’t sure she’s ready for real yet.

* * *

Claire isn’t used to having a normal Sunday night. Her schedule rarely lines up like that. But after a long weekend off, her body is pleasantly rested and, at the early-for-her hour of 11pm, she is warm and cozy on the couch, some random Netflix documentary playing in the background. She supposes it helps that she's curled up with Brad on his spacious couch that has plenty of room for even his long legs to stretch out. After the birthday party, they’d spent all weekend together— first at her apartment, then taking the most delightful ferry ride of her life over to his. It was a textbook romantic weekend full of laughter and sex and getting to know each other. Truly, Claire enjoyed herself. 

“Am I losing you there, Doc?” Brad whispers, brushing some of her hair off of her forehead and tracing gentle lines on her face. Claire snuggles into his touch. 

“Mmm, kind of,” she sighs. Her belly is full of the delicious pizza they’d made on his grill and maybe one too many glasses of wine. 

“We gotta stay up longer or we’ll be wrecked tomorrow,” he reminds her. His words are punctuated with a kiss on the pulse point of her neck followed by a gentle suckle. It sends a delicious buzz of electricity through her body but she’s still too sleepy to want to act on it. 

“Tired,” she sighs out and holds him closer. 

“I had a really great weekend, Claire.” Brad’s voice is soft and low in her ear. “The best, actually.”

Claire gives him a lazy smile. “Yeah. Me too.” And it really, really was. Spending time with Brad is easy. She just feels like herself, which is odd considering how new this is. But there were no dull moments and, contrary to her normal operating state, she never felt claustrophobic or like she needed her space. Or, just when she would start to feel overwhelmed, he’d suddenly disappear to check on one of his many projects while at his place or, when at hers, busy himself fixing her loose cabinet doors or cracked bathroom tile.

“Do ya think… do ya think we can do this again soon?” 

Furrowing her brow at the hesitation in his voice, Claire turns to look at him. “Of course! Why? Did you think I wouldn’t want to?” Claire’s mind races over the past few days, any moment where she may have indicated she wasn’t having a good time with him.

A little grin appears beneath the several days of beard grow out on Brad’s face. “No… ah, no. It's not that… it’s just. Ah, shit. I probably shouldn’t say this but, hell, I’m gonna anyway. Never was good about keepin’ my trap shut.”

“Brad. What?”

“I really like you, Claire,” he finally says. His eyes are heavy and serious. He palms her jaw, running a calloused thumb across her cheek. Claire shivers. Her mouth drops open, unsure how to respond. “And, uh, I know this is really new. But I’m the kinda guy who likes to put all my cards on the table. You don’t have to say anything right now. But, just so you know, I see this, us, goin’ somewhere. When you’re ready, say the word, and I’m your guy.”

Claire just blinks. A sudden lump forms in her throat. “I...wow, Brad.”

He makes a face and looks down. He moves his hand down to her shoulder. “Yeah. Like I said, my mouth always gets me into trouble. But just wanted you to know that.”

“I’m not sure—

With a press of his finger to her lips, he stops her. “You don’t have to say anything, Claire. Unless it’s like… hit the road, bum, because I’d rather know that now. If you feel that way.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Claire gives his finger a kiss. “I really like you, too, Brad,” she says. It’s the truth. She really, really likes him. But that’s as far as she can think right now. Carla’s words come back to her, the possibility of a move, of things having to change before they can even start. It’s too much to think about.

So she doesn’t.

Instead, she cards her fingers into his hair and pulls him into her. She presses a gentle kiss to the hidden dimple in his cheek before capturing his lips in a kiss. Opening her legs so that he settles more fully into her, Claire tries to wrap her arms around his big body and urge him into action. 

“Oh, Claire,” Brad murmurs, teasing her neck with his teeth and tongue. When she goes to lift his t-shirt up, Brad just chuckles into her skin. In one swift move he rolls her under him fully. He captures her wrist in his hand, bringing it up over her head to rest on the arm of the couch. Giggling, she squirms underneath him in a very deliberate way. He grunts and grabs for her other wrist. He can manage both of her wrists in one hand, not that she’s fighting against him at all; in fact, she’s melted completely under him, loving giving control over to him like this. He works a hickey into her collarbone. “Thought you were too tired for this, Doc.”

She wraps her legs around his hips, pushing up into him. “I could be persuaded. Especially if you’re willing to do the work.”

“Babe, you just lie back and enjoy,” he promises, dotting kisses up her arm. “I got you.”

She wants to give herself up to him completely. To be as confident as he is about his feelings. Because, he’s right, this does feel so much bigger than she anticipated. _He_ feels so right. So easy. 

Is it too easy?

Claire wouldn’t be Claire if she didn’t overthink her every move. If she didn’t second guess herself and have trouble valuing her heart over her mind. And right now her brain is just spinning with too many possibilities. 

Brad lifts her shirt over her head, his gaze so warm and sure holding steady even when the fabric briefly comes between them. His hands are confident on her skin, quick studies in what makes her feel good and still finding new ways to make her toes curl. As she loses herself in the feeling of him all around her, she wishes she had his same sense of trust in whatever is developing between them. 

Because after days of moments like this, more than anything, she really wants him to be her guy, too.

  
  
  
  
  



	6. in the circle game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure what to say here. It's been almost six months of insanity. I'm sure the majority of us have left the BA fandom. On top of all my feelings about BA and its people, I struggled a lot with this story. I was so on track with this, the longest fic I've written in years, and was so eager to finish it up. (I actually had the next two parts already mostly done at the time it all went to hell!) But, after some time and lots of life craziness, I was finally in a spot to do what I really wanted to do-- finish this up. I am not sure if anyone is even still here reading. I debated whether or not to even post, whether or not to go back and rewrite some of the characters as my thoughts and opinions about their real life counterparts changed drastically. But, in the end, I decided that since any RPF is so AU to begin with...and this a total AU on top of that...I could deal with just continuing on with the story as planned. It helps that the secondary characters don't figure in quite as much as we go and, honestly, writing some of these scenes fit in with my healing process, both with BA and other life things.
> 
> So this is all written. I am going to post a chapter every few days. It's also not beta'd because I didn't even want to ask my friends. If anyone is out there reading, I would really, really love to hear your feedback. Writing fic is such a huge coping strategy for me so this was needed regardless. I hope everyone is doing well, hanging in there. I would also love to hear of any new fandoms/shows/serotonin boosts you've found because I'm certainly at a loss lately.
> 
> Anyway! Here we go. Chapter title is from "Circle Game" by Joni Mitchell. This is kind of a downer chapter but hang with me.

Spring begins to fade. The promise of summer warms the horizon.

Claire gets called in for a second interview at Rush, including presenting a mini-lecture to a class. They begin to check her references. She’s told there’s still multiple other candidates in consideration. Claire’s friend Ken finds out that a renowned trauma specialist out of Atlanta is in the running and Claire is kind of relieved. It’s part of her justification for not talking to Brad about the job possibility, at least. That, and the fact that she completes the rest of her interview process remotely and does all her prep when their shifts conflict. It gives her a reason not to stress too much about anything if she compartmentalizes it all.

It feels like lying. It  _ is _ lying. She gets that. But now she’s dug herself into this hole with all of her omissions and over that hole is this roof of the most beautiful stained glass, all intricate patterns and beams of sunlight. To get herself out of this mess, she has no choice but to crash through it and not only is it going to ruin everything good, but it’s going to hurt like hell.

So she goes about her days hoping the decision will be out of her hands, an escape hatch of sorts, even though she knows it’s the coward’s way out. She ignores the dirt piling up all around her and keeps her gaze out toward that brilliant sky. 

Claire’s never been great at metaphors. 

The truth is this: The time she spends with Brad is wonderful. When she’s with him, she feels safe and comfortable and adored. Just holding his hand gives her butterflies; kissing him makes her weak in the knees. His texts never fail to make her smile and she finds herself checking her phone far too much during the day, hoping for just a few words from him. With each passing day, she’s in deeper. And then there’s her job. Sure, she gets to see Brad on occasion, which is always a highlight (and occasionally he brings her food and steals kisses) but the more Claire’s brain works over the possibility of leaving the day to day of being in the trenches to explore and research her passions, to teach and mentor and not worry about getting cursed out (in theory), the more she’s itching to leave St. Vincent’s. She wants the next step, the next challenge. And she just doesn’t see that happening in her current role. Not when Rapo gives her that critical eye, when Duckor seems to only catch her in her worst moments. 

Claire knows that sooner rather than later something will have to give. That it’ll all come crashing down on her.

* * *

It’s one of those days that hangs heavy and dark over Claire. Early summer storms linger, humidity thick in the air. Claire doesn’t sleep well in the hours before her shift. The thunder crashing and echoing between buildings is too much even for her. Nothing feels quite right as she goes into work. The sky glows, storm clouds still holding the sun hostage. Claire is cranky and tired. She wants to crawl back into bed. 

Of course that means the night shift presents nothing but challenges. 

First, Rapo and Duckor observe her on her rounds as she starts off her shift. On the surface they seem pleasant enough, but there’s a pinch to their faces, a coldness to their eyes; each time they take a note or give feedback, she feels a twist in her gut. She’s tired and fuzzy and doesn’t feel anywhere near at her best. Plus, Mike, who’s never been anything but excellent, gets stuck by a subway delay so shows up late and Claire has to reprimand him in front of the bosses even though it’s unfair and totally sucks. 

It’s not even 11pm and already she’s been cussed out and messes up in front of a first year and then an 80 year old man grabs her ass. 

She’s done. She just wants to go home, get under a blanket, and check back with the world in a few days. 

So that’s her explanation for what happens next.

Claire’s so busy and distracted, she barely registers when Molly makes a joke about Brad and Delany bringing in a trauma patient. Though part of Claire is excited to see Brad, knows that just one look from him will help ease her fraying nerves, mostly she just concentrates on getting through another patient. She just has to get through.

Brad and Delany wheel in their patient, a young man in his early 20s who is clearly intoxicated. He is bleary eyed, slurring his words, and trying to climb off the gurney.

“Easy there, Marco,” Brad says, voice low and comforting. “Remember the doc is just gonna check out those scrapes for you.”

“What’s going on?” Claire hasn’t had time to properly read through the chart but, given her patient’s current state, she can deduce a few things. She notes that Marco is covered in blood and dirt. She sees a few more obvious lacerations that will probably need stitches, including one on his scalp which may indicate some head trauma, but other than that he doesn’t look critical. 

“The patient here took a tumble in front of a bus.” Alex fills in. He hands off a chart to Molly, pointing out a few things as he does. “But he’s gonna be okay, right, man?”

“Yeah,” Claire agrees. Her nose wrinkles up as she registers the grossly familiar smell of the New York City streets all over her new patient. “Molly, let’s make sure we get Marco here nice and cleaned up as we’re working with him.”

“Shoulda just left me there…” Marco slurs, waving off Brad’s attempts to dab at some of the blood on his face, revealing a good laceration on his temple. “Stupid bitch stopped the bus.”

Registering Marco’s words, Claire cuts a sharp look at Brad. He gives her a quick nod in return. Claire feels a jolt of adrenaline, understanding that their current patient is at a high risk for more than just any physical injuries. 

“Nah, bub, we wouldn’t have left ya there,” Brad assures her, his voice light and even. “And the MTA worker was just doing her job. Can’t fault her that.”

“Fuck you! Let me go home!” As Brad and Alex transfer Marco to the hospital bed, the young man takes a few aimless swats at them. Neither man flinches. “Don’t touch me!”

“Easy there!” Brad is speaking in quiet tones as he begins to pack up the ambulance’s supplies, keeping one watchful eye on the patient as he works. “You can be as pissed at me and Delany as you want, okay? We’re the ugly bad guys that brought you in here. Now you gotta let these nice people here clean you up and help you out okay? You got quite a few bumps and bruises, buddy.”

Marco starts a low growl that continues as he gives them all threatening looks, his hands clenched up in fists. Claire winces.

Delany conferences quietly with Molly. Nodding, Molly goes to the phone. 

“Gotta take it easy, Marco,” Brad continues as if the young man weren’t seriously agitated. He’s pushed off the stretcher towards Alex, who maneuvers it out of the room. “I swear these docs are the best. Can I show you where Doc Saffitz here stitched me up? No scar even!” Maintaining a careful distance, and yet somehow still coming across as friendly, Brad waves his hand toward Marco.

The distraction works momentarily, even if it’s just confusion on Marco’s part. He goes quiet for a moment.

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help!” Marco finally grunts out. When Molly approaches to get an IV started, he yanks his arm back and curses at her. Brad moves in closer to the bed, giving Molly some cover so she can work. Marco seems to ignore Molly’s activities to focus his attention on Brad. 

Claire can’t tell if Marco is focusing his anger on Brad or comforted by his presence. Either way, Brad doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Claire whispers a basic few orders to Molly in their practiced shorthand. She catches sight of Mike and Kevin walking by out of the corner of her eye and gestures them over to help. The small room is getting crowded but Claire figures Brad and Alex will be leaving and she wants the male presence when they do. Normally, she isn’t so paranoid or skittish but she feels so  _ off _ today. 

“I know, bud. I know. But we care about ya and are gonna make sure you’re okay.” Brad is just murmuring nonsense at the agitated man now. 

Claire watches them all care for the patient and has a weird out of body moment where she registers none of it. Hundreds of other times she’s been in a similar situation and dealt with it without a second thought, without any anxiety. But today her mind feels scattered, unfocused, and she is on edge. She’s just so  _ done _ and frustrated and, yeah, seems like their patient overindulged in some substance and decided jumping in front of a bus was a good idea. Obviously he needs an assessment from their mental health team. But that’ll come after they get him calm and stable— not attacking the paramedics who are just trying to do their job. 

They are all just trying to do their job. 

When Marco lunges and swears at Molly, who is trying to adjust his IV, Claire snaps. 

“ _ Enough _ _,_ ” Claire gets out, her voice a low hiss. She goes for the med cart and grabs for a sedative. “Marco, I’m gonna give you something to help you calm down. You will not attack my staff like this! You need to calm down. Kevin, call for security!”

Even as the words come out of her mouth, Claire knows she should’ve said them differently. 

“Fuck you, cunt!” Marco swings a closed fist at Claire, hard. It’s a direct shot to her chest. It knocks the air out of her just as a surge of adrenaline takes the initial sting out of the hit. Claire’s eyes well up as she struggles to maintain her composure, to draw in a shocked breath. 

“Whoa!  _ Hey _ !” Brad and Alex hold out steadying hands to Marco who falls back on the gurney, the fight suddenly out of him. Though not before he spits in Claire’s direction. 

Claire jumps back, narrowly avoiding the fluid. Her voice is shaky as she orders Molly to push a sedative to their patient. 

Struggling to breathe evenly, some weird combination of amped and embarrassed and winded, Claire backs out of the room. Her eyes briefly meet Mike’s, who looks shocked at the turn of events. “Mike, can you and Kevin take over for me here?” 

She doesn’t wait to hear his response, just rips off her gloves, tosses them in a biohazard container, and walks down the hall. Walks down the hall and away from the patient, past her favorite corner, and out into the dark of the night. Once in the ambulance bay, she leans against a concrete wall and forces herself to breathe normally. She puts a hand on her chest, where she can feel the punch as if it’s happening over and over again. Not so much the pain of it, but the stinging shock of what happened.

“ _ Claire _ ?!” 

She doesn’t say anything. Meeting Brad’s worried eyes, she bursts into tears.

“Shit, babe, are you okay?” He’s at her side in a second, pulling her into a tight hug, smoothing back her hair, kissing her head. She cries into his chest. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve seen that coming. That patient was really agitated…”

“I’m fine,” Claire finally sniffles out. She pulls back from his embrace to rub at the throbbing spot high on her left breast. She’s going to have a good bruise there, but no damage was done; it hurts like hell, though, now that the adrenaline has worn off. 

“Are you sure?” Brad holds her by the shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “He got you pretty good.”

Tears run down Claire’s face anew and she angrily swipes at them. “Ugh. I’m okay. I don’t know why I’m crying. Fuck.” Cursing helps a little.

Brad pulls her into another hug. “That’s the adrenaline talking, bub. Don’t worry about it.” He strokes her hair and it calms her. She inhales deeply, pulling the warm, comforting scent of Brad into her lungs, and feels her muscles tremble with the hormones in her system.

Now that the threat has passed, Claire mentally reviews what just happened. It only makes her anger spike again, but this time at herself. “I can’t believe I said that to him. I basically threatened him with drugs and security.”

To his credit, Brad doesn’t disagree with her. “”Yeah. That probably wasn’t the best play.”

With a groan, Claire moves back from Brad and wipes the last of the tears off her face. “Do they need help in there?”

Brad shakes his head. “Nah, he’s calmer now. They’re good.”

Claire takes a shaky breath. “Today sucks.”

“I’m sorry, babe. Can I help with anything?”

“No,” Claire shakes her head. “Not unless you can make this shift be over already so I can go home and hide under the covers for the rest of the day.”

“On it!” Brad takes a sudden step back and then yells in the direction of the door. “Dr. Saffitz is off duty! Out! Shut it down!”

“Brad,” Claire laughs weakly. “Stop. Someone will hear you.”

With a shrug, Brad just winks at her. “Good! You deserve a vacation.”

“A vacation…” Claire sighs, her mind conjuring up images of sandy beaches and warm sun and fruity drinks with umbrellas in them. “Don’t tempt me.” 

“For real, though, you gonna be okay, Doc? Because I have no problem storming back in there and making them send you home early.” Brad adjusts his stance so he meets her at eye level. The intensity in his blue eyes leaves no question he would do exactly that. 

Nodding, Claire offers him up a grin. “Yeah. I will. Thank you.”

“I’ll call to check up on you later, okay?” Brad promises as Delany comes out of the hospital, yelling at him to get his ass back to the ambulance. “If anyone else gives ya trouble tonight, just come down with sudden GI distress and high tail it out of there. Works every time.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that.”

With a delighted chuckle, Brad kisses her quick on the lips before turning to head off. “Have a better night, Doc.”

As she watches him go, Claire can’t help but think it’s already a little bit better.

* * *

The next shift, after a day in which Claire leaves her bed only to pour herself a glass of wine and answer the door for takeout, she feels somewhat better. There’s still the lingering ache in her chest where she indeed has a substantial bruise. Worse than that, are the occasional reverberations of anxiety she feels, upset with herself over her short, harsh words that didn’t help to calm her clearly agitated patient.

She knows better. She can do so much better.

Still, she can’t help but jump when her next patient suddenly reaches toward her. Even when it’s only an old lady who wants to ask a question about her necklace. 

* * *

Claire is glad for another day off. She hopes any lingering jitteriness will subside; she knows it likely will. 

She’s annoyed that she has to head to the hospital for an early afternoon meeting with all of the attendings. It earned her an extra shift off this week so, really, it’s like going into work for only a few hours. But it messes with her laundry groove and sitting through a meeting in which she has to hear more things she’s dropping the ball on lately seems like too much.

It ends up not being as bad as she thought. Feeling a little better after, she decides to take advantage of the fact that Brad has picked up a few hours of the afternoon shift to help cover a shortage. He texted her all through her meeting about some movie scenes he and his partner, Hunzi, were recreating with random implements in the truck. She nearly burst out laughing at the recreation of the shower scene from _ Psycho  _ with a little gauze doll and what seemed to be coffee splashed all over a plastic basin. 

Feeling lighter in mood, Claire decides to pick up some sandwiches for Brad and Hunzi and deliver them to his corner. Rather than waiting at a station house for calls, EMTs are stationed with their ambulances in their zones. Claire never knew this fact but has learned it’s one of the reasons Brad loves his job— in his downtime between calls, he’s more than happy to make friends with the neighborhood locals and take in the familiar sights. 

Sure enough, when Claire approaches the ambulance, she finds Brad and Hunzi perched on the back bumper of the vehicle, enjoying the sunny day. A giant walkie talkie is resting between them as they chat, ready for them to receive a call. 

“Claire!”

She smiles at the way Brad’s face lights up. It gives her confidence. “Hey, fellas. Come here often?”

Okay, so it’s an admittedly terrible attempt at a line. But Brad laughs heartily and smacks his partner, Hunzi, on his shoulder.

“Only if you’re looking for a good time. But it’ll cost ya.” Brad grabs her hand and pulls her in for a quick kiss on the cheek. 

Claire waves the large brown bag she has at them. “Sandwiches and iced teas?” 

“Oh, babe, that’ll get you the whole night.” 

“Brad,” Claire rolls her eyes, but still can’t hide her smile. She hands Brad the bag and tilts her head up for a proper kiss on the lips. 

When Brad pulls away, he introduces her to Hunzi, a younger paramedic with a trim beard and kind eyes. “And Hunzi, this is my girlfriend, the lovely Dr. Claire Saffitz.”

Claire can’t help the rush of cold fear that washes over her at the introduction. Girlfriend. That is new. She tries to keep a smile plastered on her face as she shakes Hunzi’s hand.

“Claire, I’ve heard so much about you!” Hunzi beams at her. “It’s so nice to meet you. Wow. Brad’s girlfriend. In the flesh.”

Claire defaults to gracious small talk, even as her brain’s buzzing. Girlfriend. Okay, so it’s not like it’s surprising. It’s been weeks now of spending all their free time together. They just haven’t had the talk. (And, if Claire’s being honest with herself, she’s done her best to avoid it.)

Brad seems to pick up on her uncomfortable reaction, giving her a sideways look. He passes the bag of food off to Hunzi. “Hey, man, give us a second?”

Hunzi’s face falls a bit. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. I, uh, I’ll be right over on that bench making a phone call I needed to make anyway.”

“Good deal, bud.” Brad doesn’t even look at his partner as he saunters away, mumbling to himself about a dentist appointment. His eyes focus on Claire’s. It’s like he can read her mind. It makes her skin prickle a bit and she folds her arms across her chest. “What is it, Claire?”

“What’s what?” 

Brad rolls his eyes at her with true impatience. “Don’t do that. Look. I know we haven’t officially done the boyfriend/girlfriend thing yet but I’m stuck in a vehicle with these guys for hours on end with nothing else to do but shoot the shit. I needed some sort of shorthand for the woman I can’t stop talking about.”

Claire bites her lip. Her stomach does a little flip. “You can’t stop talking about me?”

With a put upon exhale, Brad yanks his hat off his head and shoves his hands through his hair. “ _ Claire _ . Of course I can’t. But that’s beside the point. Are you bothered that I called you my girlfriend?”

Taking a deep, centering breath, Claire pushes down the anxiety she starts to feel to focus on the man standing before her. He is big and loud and can’t stop talking about her. And he’s currently looking at her like she could stomp his heart into pieces on the sidewalk if she says the wrong thing. Claire closes her eyes. Breathes. “I’m not bothered. I like it. It’s just...a big thing for me.”

An adorable smirk curls at Brad’s lips, the single dimple in his cheek peeking out beneath his stubble. “Yeah? Well. It’s not exactly a small thing for me, either.”

Claire nods. She grabs Brad’s hand, feels the familiar texture and heat of it against her much smaller palm. “I just wish we would’ve talked about it first.”

Brad goes still. “Claire, I’ve been tryin’ to get you to talk about it for the past two weeks.”

“You have?” It sounds forced even to her own ears.

“C’mon, Claire,” Brad sighs. He squeezes her hand. “Anytime I triy to get serious with you, you distract me or change the subject. I’m not an idiot. And you’re definitely not that dumb, so don’t even pretend.”

Heart pounding hard in her chest, Claire isn’t sure how to respond. Brad is hurt, clearly, and it hurts her that she hurt him. A lot more than she thought it could, honestly. Emotion wells up thick and choking in her throat. She blinks back tears.  _ Shit _ . She’s a terrible person. She doesn’t deserve him. All she can do is clutch his hand harder, pull him closer into her. He goes willingly, stepping into her personal space so that she has to tilt her head up to see him, so that his hands come to rest on her hips. Carefully, she traces the clean lines of his uniform up his chest and to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Brad,” is all she can offer, and it’s genuine. With a deep breath, she tests the waters. “There’s just...there are some things going on we need to talk about.”

“Okay…?” He quirks an eyebrow at her, clearly confused. He doesn’t let go of her though. “If it’s that you have a whole other family on the side then you should probably tell me now.”

Claire chuckles, but it lacks humor. “No. There’s no one else, Brad,” she assures him and his eyes light up, bright and happy, at that. “I do want to call you my boyfriend.” She winces. “No matter how terribly high school that sounds.”

“I’ll dig out my old letterman’s jacket when I get home,” Brad teases. He pulls her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. Claire sighs into his chest. “Whatever it is, Claire, I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Nodding into him, Claire just holds him closer, willing away the guilt that churns her stomach. 

“Like I said, I know there’s something you’re holding back from me. And that’s okay. I just hope that when you’re ready, you’ll talk about it, okay? Whatever it is?”

Claire isn’t sure it’ll be okay at this point. But she allows herself this moment to believe that it will be. Because she can’t imagine not feeling Brad’s warm embrace around her, his heartbeat steady and sure beneath her ear. She has never felt like she could need someone so badly and it terrifies her. Because this wasn’t part of her plan. 

He was never part of her plan.

* * *

Another night, another shift. She has to run interference for Kevin with a pushy family. It is a gorgeous Thursday night so there’s a rush of patients who party too hard, too early in the week. Then there seems to be a case of food poisoning that strikes a nearby conference so she spends a solid few hours trying not to get vomited on. 

It’s work, as normal. She isn’t sure why she’s so exhausted. So ready to be done. Her fuse still feels short, even the most mundane frustrations seem to take her to the brink.

It helps that Brad is working, too. He has a busy shift, what with the good weather earlier in the evening, but each time he rolls in with Delany and a patient he makes sure to check in with her, even if just to share a quick joke and a smile. 

A small part of her wonders if the only thing going right at work lately is that she has interactions with Brad to look forward to. Their shifts still keep them apart more than she would like. The time they do have together is so easy and fun; it feels like she’s known him forever. But then there are stretches of days where they have to settle for texts and FaceTime and maybe a quick meal together if they are lucky. 

She’s falling for him. Hard. When she’s with him, worries fade and everything seems to make sense. She can be herself and somehow he seems to shine affection at her, even when she’s at her crankiest. He always seems to know how to perk her up, how to catch her before she falls. 

So with Brad shading in the background of her otherwise mundane shift with highlights of color, she makes it through.

She’s barely made it inside her apartment Friday morning after her shift ends when her phone rings. It’s a Chicago area code. Her heart stops.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Dr. Saffitz? This is Alejandra Cruz, Faculty Recruiter at Rush University. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

Claire is glad her couch is only a few feet away. She sinks to a seat before she falls on her ass. Murmuring her availability, she listens and feels the world fall away under her feet. 

  
  



	7. maybe all we had has always been right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm so glad there are at least a handful of you still reading! Here's the next part. More soon! Chapter title is from "Wasting Time" by Nathaniel Rateliff. All mistakes are my own.

Claire has the night off. 

For the first time, she is rather annoyed about it. There’s too much time to think. She wants to take an Ambien and sleep for the day, waking up only when it’s time to get ready for another shift. She wants to work through the lens of _ this could be one of your last days here _ . She needs to distract herself for as long as possible, to avoid dealing with this massive decision she has to make. 

But once she hangs up with the recruiter, her mind spinning, she realizes she has a whole blank day ahead of her to think. After coming home from a night shift and facing a night off, she would normally try to wind down quickly and put herself to sleep for a few hours, waking when she still had a whole afternoon and evening free to participate in the real world. 

Today she wants nothing to do with that. 

Buzzing with anxiety, Claire turns off her phone and changes into her running gear. A long run through the park will exhaust her body and calm her mind. Then, she will take a sleeping pill and hopefully awake in the evening with a clear head and maybe even some answers.

It doesn’t work. 

When she wakes late in the evening, she just feels groggy and jittery at the same time. So she loads herself up on caffeine and sets to work in the kitchen. She occupies herself with a complicated recipe. Spending hours laminating pastry and perfecting her filling recipe keeps her hands busy while she tries to organize her thoughts. If the dough takes more of a beating than is advised, well, it’s just her trying to work things out.

It doesn’t help that Brad is having a slow shift. He texts her throughout the night, even FaceTiming her once to prove to his partner for the night, Andy Baraghani, that Claire is, in fact, a real person and not a figment of his imagination. (Andy remains skeptical.) Every contact from Brad sends a fresh wave of anxiety through Claire and she spends hours furiously reorganizing her pantry when the dough has to chill, wishing she could go back and never apply for the job in the first place, or follow her instincts and stay in bed with Brad that first day together, never showing up for her interview.

She invites Brad over after his shift. Even in the midst of her stress, she just wants to see him, wants him to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it will all be okay. (It won’t.)

As her croissants cool on the counter, Claire sits at her desk to use her tried and true method of decision making: the pro and con list. But it’s futile. It all boils down to New York having Brad and Chicago having her dream job. With a groan, she crumples up her paper and shoves it deep in the recycling bin. She sends a text to her mom to call her as soon as she wakes up.

Claire is finally dozing on the couch, Bravo reruns playing in the background, when Sauci Saffitz calls at promptly 6am. Claire doesn’t often text her mom needing to talk, so she knows the older woman is worried. 

“Hi, Mom.”

“Sweetie, what’s going on?”

That’s all it takes, the firmly kind tone of her mother, for Claire to let out a single sob that releases a waterfall of tears. 

It takes Claire about ten minutes to get all the information out, between her sniffling and the near suffocating guilt she feels. Sauci knows about Brad, of course, and the job prospect. She’s also never packed any punches when it comes to calling Claire out on her bad behaviors (rare as they were.)

“Claire, dear, you knew this moment was coming.”

“I know,” Claire sighs, regretting every missed opportunity to discuss this with Brad over the past few weeks. “It was just easy to pretend it wasn’t.”

“At this point, all you can do is tell him the truth and let him decide. This is a big thing to have kept from him. Even if you choose to turn down the job and stay in New York, you will have broken his trust.”

Claire exhales. Sauci isn’t saying anything she hasn’t already thought. “He’s going to hate me.”

“Well, that seems unlikely,” scoffs Sauci. “From all you’ve said, it seems this man is quite taken with you. But this does change everything. He has a right to be upset and feel left out in the cold. You will have to work hard to fix this.”

“Mom, that is not what I want to hear.”

“Sweetie, I’ve never been one to sugar coat things for you and you know it. The real question is— what do  _ you _ want?”

“I honestly don’t know. This job is what I’ve wanted for so long and the burnout I feel at St. Vincent’s is real. The only time I’m happy is when Brad is there. And Brad, well... “ Claire sniffles. “I did not expect this. To feel this way. About anyone, really.”

Sauci is silent for a long moment, letting Claire sit with her emotions. “Sounds like your pro and con list was inconclusive.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know where you got this from, Claire. This idea that it has to be one or the other— career or a family.”

Claire bites her lip. Her chest feels so tight. “Who said anything about a family?”

“Isn’t that what this is about? With Brad you see a future, perhaps marriage and a family. Somehow you think that’s not compatible right now with advancing your career, which just isn’t true. Of course sacrifices are always made but even then...it’s more about compromise than sacrifice. Deciding together what your priorities as a family are.”

“Mom, we haven’t even talked about that yet—

“Nonsense. You’re in your 30s. You’ve had plenty of life behind you to know these things. What if Brad decides he will move with you to Chicago? How would you feel about that outcome?”

Claire knows that implicit behind all of that, him deciding to uproot his entire life for her, would be because they are going to start a life together. The idea of it thrills Claire in a way she never dared hoped for. The flip side of hope, of course, is a near crippling fear that she screwed it all up before it could even really begin or, worse, that he won’t want the same thing. Or maybe he decides to go with her, uproot his entire life, and the job isn’t what she thinks it will be. And then Brad will have given it all up for her. For nothing.

After a long moment of silence on Sauci’s end, and a lot of noise in Claire’s head, Sauci hits Claire with yet another truth: “Claire, I say this as your mother who loves you dearly and could not be more proud of all you’ve accomplished. All your life, you’ve set high goals for yourself, reached for the next greatest achievement. While that’s well and good, I have always wondered if sometimes that was just an excuse, a reason to start over rather than trying to be happy with what you already have.”

Well, that’s a punch in the gut. “ _ Mom _ …”

“You’ll figure it out, dear,” Sauci promises. “Just trust your intuition. Trust your heart. I’ll be here whatever you need.”

“I know,” Claire whispers, overwhelmed with gratitude for her relationship with her mother. She doesn’t feel any closer to an answer, but knows the only way forward is through: she has to talk to Brad. “Thank you, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie. Now go talk to Brad.”

“I will,” she promises.

Claire hangs up and takes a deep breath. She allows herself to exhale out all her frustration in a loud groan, gives her face a scrub to clear the tears, and then gets to work on making breakfast. 

* * *

Claire pulls together a spread that she darkly refers to herself as “their last breakfast.” She mentally runs through all her thoughts and bullet points as she sets up her kitchen counter with an Instagram worthy spread of her almond croissants, fruit, and a whole coffee bar situation. She has no intention of drinking any caffeine for herself and knows that Brad probably won’t either. 

But Brad comes home in such a good mood. He praises the flakiness of her croissants as he stuffs two of them down. Then they are laughing and kissing and she’s soaking in how good it feels to be with him; she can’t bring herself to break the spell. When he comes up behind her as she’s rinsing the breakfast dishes, gropes her ass, and works a hand down her sweatpants, she finds herself chanting _ later, later, later _ in her head as she begs  _ more, more, more _ out loud. 

She drags him by his belt buckle into her bedroom because she wants this possibly last time together to be in her bed, not a quick fuck in the kitchen. She is greedy with him, frantic. Her touches reveal her desperation with every tender exploration. Brad being Brad senses the shift in mood. 

His body is hovering over hers, nearly eclipsing everything else. Yet, he pulls back from one of her bruising kisses to nuzzle his nose against her skin before drawing back to look at her, eyes dark and serious. “We gotta have that talk don’t we?” 

Tears cloud her vision. “First this. Please, Brad.  _ Please _ .” She runs her hands through his hair, wraps a leg around his waist to pull him into her.

He doesn’t deny her but even as their bodies come together in a familiar rhythm, she can feel an emotional distance set in. She closes her eyes against it. Focuses on the weight and feel of him. It’s almost too much. 

When she falls apart around him, it’s against her will. She scrambles to hold herself together, hold on longer, make it last. Her nails scratch into his skin, thighs clench tight. The sharp tang of blood blooms on her tongue as she bites into her lip. He comes shortly after her, quiet and still. Instead of holding her like he usually does, he rolls away and heads to the bathroom. She expects him to return wielding a warm washcloth like a prize, all smug and sweet and proud. 

Instead, she hears the shower turn on. 

Fuck. 

Claire aches to go to him but knows she owes him the time and space to prepare for what lies ahead. She pulls her sweats back on, lays out some clean clothes she can change into after her own shower, and goes to the kitchen. She’s going to need some coffee after all. Regardless of what happens next, she doubts sleep is in her future. 

When Brad comes out of the bathroom, she greets him hesitantly. “Hey. I made you some coffee. Just how you like it.” It’s a small gesture, but it’s something. He offers her a soft smile in return. 

“Thanks, Claire.”

“I’m gonna rinse off really quick and then we can talk, okay?” 

“If you’re gonna break up with me, Claire, I’d kind of rather you do it now…” Never has he looked so small and afraid to Claire. There’s a slight tremble in his hands.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” she says firmly. He visibly sighs in relief. “I just...I have a decision to make. And it affects us so…”

Brad’s eyes widen. He goes still. “Are you pregnant?”

“What!? No!”

“Oh. Okay.” There’s not much to say to come back from that, Claire thinks. And she pointedly ignores the slight fall of Brad’s face when she denies it. Pregnant would almost be easier at this point. In the short term, at least.

“Can I just take a quick shower? Collect my thoughts?”

“Sure. Of course. I’ll be here. Waiting.” Brad gestures to the couch. Then, he grabs his coffee and goes to sit in silence. 

“I’ll be fast.”

* * *

Claire is toweling off when Brad’s booming voice sounds through the door.

“Claire! Your phone is ringing!”

“Who is it?”

“Unknown number!”

Claire rolls her eyes. She redoes the bun on top of her head. “Just ignore it, Brad.” 

“Claire!” His voice is sing-songy and it’s a balm to her frayed nerves. “Could be your winning sweepstakes entry!”

Pulling on her clean clothes, Claire can’t help but laugh. “Brad! Just send it to voicemail. I’ll deal with it later.”

He holds the trilling phone up to the door so Claire can hear it. “You should always answer the phone, Claire! What if your sister needs bail money?”

“Oh my God, Brad! You answer it then!”

He does.

* * *

Claire leaves the bathroom, clean and ready to face this conversation with Brad. She finds her boyfriend sitting on the couch, staring at her bookshelf. He’s drumming his fingers in some strange rhythm on his knees. He doesn’t even turn to look at her. 

Claire’s heart picks up speed. “Brad?”

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, so that call was actually a Dr. Carlile from Rush University? He was calling to see if you had any questions about the job offer.”

“Brad…” Her stomach drops, worse than any roller coaster she’s ever been on.

“I’ve never even heard of Rush University. So I googled it. Turns out it’s in Chicago.”

“That’s what we need to talk about.”

“You applied for a job in Chicago?” Brad’s voice is so quiet. Claire can barely hear him over the pounding in her ears. 

“It was before you asked me out,” she insists, her voice cracking a bit.

“But you’ve known this whole time?” 

Claire forces herself to walk over to him. He looks up at her with a stormy expression on his face. She sits down next to him on the couch, perches carefully on the edge. “I didn’t know I got the job until yesterday. I thought it was a longshot.”

“But you got it.”

“Yes.”

Brad scrubs at his face. He keeps his eyes focused on her coffee table. “And you’re moving to Chicago?”

“I don’t know,” Claire answers in a small voice. “It’s an amazing opportunity. My dream job.”

Looking straight ahead still, Brad just nods. “Your dream job. Okay. I don’t even know what your dream job is then, I guess.”

Claire narrows her eyes at him. “You know I haven’t been happy at St. Vincent’s.”

“I didn’t know you were looking for a new job!” Brad snipes back, cutting her a dark look. He stands up. Begins to pace the small living room. “Jesus, Claire, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Claire feels her eyes begin to well up. “I’m sorry. I...I was afraid. And I didn’t want to scare you. If you knew—

“If I knew you had one foot out the door?” 

“It wasn’t like that,” Claire protests. “I might not even take the job! Because I don’t want to lose you!”

Brad groans and collapses back on the couch. “Fuck, Claire. It’s not like it’s an either or option.”

“I couldn’t ask you to move to Chicago.” Claire shakes her head.

Brad goes suddenly still, then turns slowly to meet her gaze. His eyes are stormy. “Here’s the thing, Claire. I’ve known about this possibility for five minutes and I must be fucking crazy because the thought has crossed my mind that I could do it. That I am that much in this that I would move to a whole new state for you. But you couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a heads up. That this change could be happening.”

Claire drops her head into her hands. She’s fighting back tears. A few escape and drip into her palm. “I know! I just thought… Your whole life is here, Brad! Your job, your workshop, your friends, your family. I don’t want you to feel like you had to give that up. Just for me.”

Brad barks out a bitter laugh. “Feel like I have to? Claire, fuck, I’m head over heels in love with you. I was imagining a whole life with you. Being ninety years old in rockers on our front porch, arguing about stupid shit! I don’t care where that is.”

“But your life here— ”

Brad gives her a look that’s almost pity and it stings. Claire feels so small and so, so stupid. “My family will always be there, Claire. And my friends. I can do this damn job anywhere else, open a studio wherever. I’d figure it out.”

Claire allows a glimmer of hope.

“But you didn’t even  _ ask _ . You were just gonna decide. Not even let me have a say.”

“That’s not true—”

“Claire, when you gonna realize that this is something?” Brad looks at her and the expression on his face is positively broken. A steady stream of tears run down Claire’s cheeks now; she doesn’t even bother to wipe them, knows there are many more to come. “What we have doesn’t come around every day. But if you’re gonna take it for granted… If you’re not gonna trust me to be in your life, be your partner… I can’t. I can’t put my heart out there like that.”

Swallowing hard, Claire grasps at...well, she doesn’t know what’s left. “Brad...it’s not…”

“Don’t,” he’s wiping furiously at his eyes now. “Just. Don’t.”

“How can I fix this?” 

Brad takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t know, Claire. I don’t.” 

Claire uses her sleeve to swipe at her tears. She can hardly see through them and she wants to see him, no matter how awful it is. “Can we talk about it now?” Her words are desperate, pleading. A pain stabs in her chest, acute and sudden, radiating all over, burning like a poison. “I’m so  _ sorry _ .” 

Knitting his fingers together, Brad clenches them so that his knuckles go white. He won’t look at her. “I just… gimme some time, okay?” He shoves his beanie on his head. Hair sticks out from the edges haphazardly. “You had plenty of it, apparently.”

And on those bitter words, he leaves her apartment.

Claire collapses on the couch and cries. 


	8. a heart that is broken makes a beautiful sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there, friends! Thanks, again, for those of you who have let me know you're still here and reading. It makes my heart full! Chapter title is from "The Things I Regret" by Brandi Carlile. All mistakes are mine.

The weekend crawls by as Claire spends her time alternately perseverating over her decision or throwing herself into mindless tasks to distract herself. She texts Brad her apologies, her reasonings, her thoughts—  _ everything, _ because she’s learned her lesson— and they all go unanswered. She calls and leaves rambling voicemails. Nothing. Well, except for a simple  _ need more time _ text. Those three words fill her with more relief than she cares to admit.

Claire heads in for a shift on Sunday evening. Present on her mind is the idea that she will know after clocking in just how she feels about St. Vincent’s, that just one night at work will quell all her doubts about the decision she’s needing to make. 

She knows that’s too easy. That it doesn't work like that. But her research methodology classes have taught her all about confirmation bias and she’s pretty certain in the desired outcome at his point.

* * *

“Brace yourself for this one, Claire,” Rick says, walking past her into the exam room.

Claire frowns. She’s not quite sure what that means. The chart indicates a likely second degree burn, nothing overly complicated. Though when she takes in the scene before her, it’s an immediate punch to the gut.

It’s Brad, of course, partnered with Delany again tonight. Even worse, Brad is cuddling a sniffling toddler. Her tiny, adorable body is curled against his chest, clutching a stuffed bear in one hand. Claire inhales sharply, sending a general mental curse out to the universe. Delany comforts a woman sitting on the gurney, presumably the child’s mother. The mother is trying to muffle her own cries of pain as she cradles her gauzed arm close. 

Brad meets her eyes as soon as she enters the room but doesn’t greet her with his usual enthusiasm, just goes back to making silly faces at the toddler in his arms. The little girl begins to grin through her tears. A tiny hand traces the patches on his uniform.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Saffitz.” Claire pulls on a pair of gloves and forces a smile on her face. Rick shoots her a questioning look, eyes darting between her and Brad, as he begins to check out the mother’s vitals. “What’s going on?”

Delany moves away from the mother, who introduces herself as Diana, and begins to remove their equipment from the room. 

Diana breaks down in fresh tears. “My baby! I’m so sorry!”

Claire looks between the paramedics in confusion. The toddler is singing a little tune to her stuffed animal now, squirming in Brad’s arms. She looks happy and healthy. 

“Destiny is doing just fine, ma’am,” Brad assures her mother, moving directly in front of her so she can see for herself. Diana continues to cry silent tears, flinching in pain as Rick gently unwraps the gauze from her arm. Claire registers a nasty looking burn over her forearm and wrist. “We’re singing some  _ Frozen _ songs. Right, princess?” Destiny sings a few barely intelligible words from “Let It Go” in response. 

Claire’s stomach flips. A real smile threatens her lips when Brad starts humming along with Destiny in an impressive falsetto. She focuses on Diana, inspecting her wound by gently turning her wrist. The burn is large and angry. Blisters and raw, pink flesh speckle Diana’s otherwise healthy brown skin. “The good news, Diana, is that this looks and feels a lot worse than it is, okay? Rick here is going to start some pain meds for you. Then we’ll get to work on cleaning and dressing this and getting you back home.”

Diana nods. “It was my fault. I didn’t think she was tall enough to reach the stove top yet!”

Making a noise of sympathy, Claire encourages Diana to keep talking. She tries to focus on her patient, on carefully inspecting and cleaning the wound, and not the way Brad is distracting the baby while her mother’s so distraught.

“I turned my back for a second to get the milk out of the fridge and she was reaching for the pot! I tried to grab it away!” Diana wipes her tears with her good hand, eyes inspecting her daughter for any signs of damage.

“Baby girl here doesn't have a scratch on her,” Brad assures her mother. Destiny is giggling to herself and trying to yank on Brad’s short beard. 

“Mac ‘n cheese!”

Diana allows a little smile at her daughter’s declaration. “I know, baby, we’ll get some food when we can leave, okay? Maybe a Happy Meal?”

“A Happy Meal!” Brad exclaims. “I hope it’s the cheeseburger kind!”

“No! Chick nuggets!” Destiny shakes her head, the barrettes on her braids clinking in a pleasant rhythm. She erupts in laughter at Brad’s horrified face. He draws more sweet giggles out of the little girl with a few well placed tickles and Claire thinks this is the most cosmically unfair treatment of her life.

Claire gives a little nod to Rick, who catches her signal and quietly leaves the room. Claire unlocks the cabinet in the room to grab a stock of supplies to dress the burn, as well as send extras home with her patient. Without so much as making eye contact with her, Brad snags a roll of gauze for himself.

“Were you making mac and cheese?” Brad makes a stern face at the toddler, causing her to laugh harder. As she giggles, he begins to wrap the gauze around the teddy bear’s wrist. “You gotta let mommy do that work, okay, princess?”

“I doctor!” Destiny grabs the gauze from Brad and begins to wrap it around the teddy bear’s full body. Brad gives the toddler an exaggerated gasp. Diana laughs at the antics and her suffering seems to ease.

“Look at this handiwork, Doc,” Brad finally addresses Claire. He holds the bear aloft. It’s taken on a distinctly mummified appearance but Destiny seems pleased with her result.

“Wow!” Claire beams at the little girl. “Someone has a future in medicine.” Taping Diana’s bandage closed, she shows it off to Destiny. “Just like mine!”

“Nu-uh,” Destiny rolls her eyes at Claire, then goes back to grinning at Brad. 

“Oh Lord help me,” Diana laughs. She gives her eyes one last swipe to clear them of tears. 

“Well, Dr. Destiny,” Brad says, jostling the little girl on his knee just a bit so she laughs, “looks like you’re ready to join Dr. Saffitz on the job.”

“No! Stay with Brad!” the toddler beams up at him with her big, brown eyes. Brad hands the little girl off to her mom, looking a bit smitten himself. Claire sighs. Totally unfair.

Diana gives Brad a smile of thanks and hugs her baby close. Claire has to drag her eyes away and to the computer to put her final notes in the chart. 

Rick returns to the room with more supplies and instructions for mom, as well as a pudding cup for Destiny. Claire can no longer bear to be in Brad’s presence she’s so overwhelmed with regret and longing. She makes a hasty exit.

She’s barely made her escape when Brad catches her elbow and drags her into an empty exam room. 

“Hey. Claire.”

She bites her lip, considers going on the defensive and chastising him for manhandling her. But the truth is she didn’t offer up much resistance and his hand feels deliciously warm on her arm. 

As if sensing the thought, he releases her.

In the dim, manufactured light, Claire gets her first good look at Brad in days. Her heart aches when she reads the darkness under his eyes, the wearniness that radiates from him, now that he’s not on for his patients. He looks sad and broken and the fact that she was the one to cause it makes her stomach churn with acid. 

“Hey,” is all she can offer in return, letting her eyes speak of all her hope and need. He looks down. Claire clears her throat. Well. She has to say something. “That wasn’t really fair, you know.” He lifts his eyes to her again, questioning. She jerks her thumb at the exam room they just exited. Forces a grin onto her face. “What you did in there.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “All’s fair in love and war, Claire.”

Her heart stutters in her chest. Tears cloud her vision, melt her facade. “Brad…”

He studies her for a long moment. “I know what I want, Claire,” he says, leveling her with a heavy look. “But you gotta make a decision first.”

“Okay…” she frowns. Her hands clench into fists, then unclench just as quickly. Grasping at what she doesn’t know. What does that mean? She can choose to stay with him? He’ll go with her? Or she has to say goodbye to him forever? “I don’t…” she shakes her head. Goes for it. “So, you’d move to Chicago?”

After a long exhale, he answers, his words slow and careful like he’s speaking to a toddler again. “Are you asking me to move with you to Chicago?”

She blinks at him. Pleading. 

“Shit, Claire.” He shakes his head at her. Yanks his hat off his head and musses his hair. “You still don’t have a fucking clue do you?”

A page goes off overhead. She has to go. But she can’t leave him like this.

“I want you, Brad. I know that. I do.” Nothing has been more true. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t want the job though. 

There’s commotion in the hallway. She really has to go. They both glance toward the door. 

“Brad,” she pleads again. “Can we at least talk?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, we can.”

His resignation lets her push, just a little. “About moving to Chicago? Together?” She holds her breath. She just needs to know.

He laughs, a bit sardonically. “Yeah, Claire. I would talk about moving to Chicago. And spoiler? I’d follow you to the fuckin’ ends of the earth. But I just..I need more from you. It’s not that simple.” 

“Okay. Okay, I can work with that.” Claire’s a bit breathless. “Breakfast this morning? After our shifts?”

“Okay.” Brad pauses. “I love you, you know. And I want to be with you. But I’m still really fucking pissed.”

Claire nods, hope blossoming in her heart. “I know. I get it. You have every right to be. I messed up. I just...thank you for being willing to talk.” 

He nods, more at himself than at her, then reaches for the door. “Let me get that for you.”

Claire sighs in relief. It’s gonna work out. It has to. 

* * *

The next hours fly by in a blur. 

Claire is nearing the end of her shift, hardly aware of anything, her mind firmly on her pending conversation with Brad. 

What was once fuzzy and uncertain now feels clear: she wants to be with him. She loves him. God, she loves him so much. Why couldn’t she just say it? Regret weighs heavy on her shoulders for not telling Brad about the job in the first place, for ever being unsure of her feelings for him. Or his feelings for her. 

She hopes she can fix this. No, she  _ will _ fix this. She just has to figure out the right words, how to give him what he needs. How to make it better. 

But as much as she wants everything to work out with Brad, she’s coming to the realization that she also wants her dream job. She wants it all. When has she never not wanted it all? And getting it all usually just means putting her nose to the grindstone, working her ass off, and making it happen. 

She  _ will  _ make this happen. 

Claire smiles to herself as she finishes her charting with a flourish. Feeling like she’s finally coming out of a fog, feeling more like herself than she has in days, she glances around to check in on her surroundings.

Hmm. Quiet. 

Shit. 

For no legitimate reason, her stomach bottoms out. She bites her lip. It’s fine. It’s just another night in the ER. In its familiar rhythm, this is the natural ebb. A moment to breathe. 

It’s okay. She’s not  _ that  _ superstitious. Besides, she didn’t even say the thought out loud. So it doesn’t count.

As if on cue, a tinny voice sounds on the intercom. In the distance, pagers and phones erupt. A crescendo begins to build, energy sparking in the air from a pending storm.

Priya comes running past her workstation, bright eyes and breathless. “Something major is happening!”

Claire frowns. Her pager goes off. CODE RED: TRIAGE. Code Red means a major disaster. Potential mass casualties. 

“Fuck.” Claire doesn’t care who hears her. She takes a deep breath and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Gaby enter through the secure doors between the bullpen and the lobby. “What’s going on, Gaby?”

The triage nurse’s face is tense and drawn. “Fire in the subway. They aren’t sure if it was an accident or—”

Priya shoots a quick, worried look at Claire; she’s practically bouncing in anticipation. Claire notices that their once calm and relatively relaxed staff are now circling around her, their attending, waiting on orders. 

“Okay.” She puts up a hand to halt Gaby from speculating any further. The  _ why _ doesn’t help anything now. “I’m activating the plan for a mass casualty incident. Fire in the subway. Molly, prep the trauma rooms. Mike, call the burn unit and surgical and tell them it’s all hands on deck.”

At that, everyone is suddenly moving, preparing the department for their influx of patients. Claire begins to rattle off roles and tasks to whomever steps into her view. Rick grabs a dry erase marker and starts recording duties on their whiteboard. Their well-rehearsed choreography is muscle memory at this point, even when a buzz of anticipation, fear and even excitement linger in the air. 

There’s a single moment when they are ready and waiting. When everything goes still and no one breathes. All their eyes are on the ambulance bay, all their muscles tense and ready for the starter pistol to send them into a sprint. Claire watches the play of red lights in the dark night through the window, distantly hears the siren, and allows her mind, previously so focused and task-oriented, to offer up a brief prayer. She hopes that Brad will be first through that door, eager and stressed, but safe. 

The ambulance bay door bursts open. It’s not Brad. Claire’s breath hitches. 

Maybe the next one. 

And then, controlled chaos. 


	9. leave the light on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part before the epilogue! Chapter title is from the Maggie Rogers song.

The emergency department is bustling with activity. Patients line the hallways, overflowing from the exam rooms, as staff work quickly to treat their injuries. It’s a small relief that there seem to be few critical patients; most seem to wander in on their own accord, dazed and hurting. The subway station had just begun to feel the flow of early morning commuters when the explosion happened. 

“It sounded like a bomb. I swear it was a bomb. I can’t believe—

“--this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.”

“--I’m going to have to reschedule the presentation for this morning. No, I know there’s a deadline but I was just in a fucking fire—”

“--there was so much smoke. My eyes won’t stop watering...”

And so it goes. Snippets of overheard conversations. Little streams of consciousness as their patients are reeling in shock. Claire listens to and comforts each one before patching up their wounds and sending them on their way. Minor lacerations and smoke inhalation seem to be their biggest complaints. After quickly assessing the cases, she lets her senior residents handle the few major traumas that arrive both for the experience and so she can continue to manage their crisis response. 

As she treats a first responder, the firefighter tells her there was one subway car jammed shut, that they’d been lucky so far, injury-wise, but who knows what was waiting in that car, wedged in the tunnel behind a wall of smoke.

Claire bites back any comments as she wraps the firefighter’s sprained ankle. A minor injury from jumping down on the tracks and landing wrong. Her eyes keep flicking around, searching for a familiar silhouette in the sea of activity. Brad is impossible to miss in a crowd. Even beyond that, she knows she would recognize him anywhere, that she would be drawn to him no matter what. It’s ridiculous but nothing has felt truer and her stomach hasn’t stopped twisting and turning in knots since this all began. It wrings tighter with each arrival who isn’t Brad. 

As she’s sending the firefighter hobbling on his way, she catches a glimpse of a tall figure, pushing a gurney into a trauma room. Her heart lifts. 

No. Not Brad.

Alex Delany. Alone. Without Brad.

She curses under her breath. She ignores the fact that Sohla and Chris are already jumping in to care for the trauma patient. She ignores the fact that there’s even a patient. Her feet carry her forward, her voice yells out, scratchy and scared.

“Delany?!”

He meets her eyes, his face dropping. Claire stops dead in her tracks. A gut punch. _Oh no._ “Delany…” It’s a warning.

Giving a final note to Sohla, he steps away from the patient and slowly walks toward Claire. His face is pinched in a preemptive apology.

Claire cuts the distance between them. “Alex, _where’s Brad_ ?” Her heart is in her throat now, raw and flaming. She feels dizzy. Untethered. _Please, please let him be okay._

Panicked brown eyes lift to meet hers. “Claire…”

She swallows hard, nearly choking on her panic. “Please…” His eyes drop again, like he’s scared to face her. And he damn well should be. The tide of her fear turns rapidly to anger. She shoves her clenched hands into the pockets of her lab coat. Takes a step closer to him. She’s short enough to meet his downward gaze and force him to look at her with one fierce look.

He takes a deep breath. Stands a little taller. Shoves a hand through dirty hair. “Claire, I told him not to—

“Alex! _Tell me_ , goddammit!” Tears spring into her eyes. She squeezes her hands into fists. She’s never punched anyone before, has never had an urge quite like this...

“We were parked just a block away from the station when it happened. We heard the blast. We radioed it in. But then Brad, being fucking Brad, can’t just wait—” Alex chokes a little on this and looks away from her. Claire feels her whole body clench. Something sharp and metallic crawls up through her system. She bites her lip hard. 

_Of course he wouldn’t wait. Oh, Brad. Oh god._

“The scene hadn’t been cleared yet,” Alex continues. He looks a little dazed, a little glassy. “There was smoke coming up from the station. People were running out, screaming. I told him to fucking wait. We could hear the sirens.”

“Brad would never wait. Not when people are hurt.” 

“He fucking went down to the tracks, Claire. The scene wasn’t clear.”

“Where. Is He.” Claire isn’t sure how she’s still standing. She wants to melt down to the floor. She wants to shake the truth out of Alex, no matter how terrible, because, because... _goddammit, Brad!_

“There were people crying. Screaming for help…He wouldn’t wait for the scene to be cleared. The car had jumped the tracks. Been blown off the tracks. Whatever. People couldn’t get out. They were yelling and screaming and crying. He opened the door. I don’t even know fucking _how_. Just ripped it open… It was all tilted on its side, not like a normal door, everyone was crying, smoke was everywhere. We could hardly fucking breathe. We don't have the gear for that shit.”

Claire can’t speak. Every worst case scenario flits across her mind as Alex tells the story: Smoke inhalation in an enclosed space can cause thermal damage, cyanide poisoning, carbon monoxide poisoning, asphyxiation... Severe burns to the skin if there was any fire. And what about any secondary explosions or fire? Not to mention any other unknown danger from running straight into a crime scene. Every muscle in Claire's body is tense. She's dizzy. Her heart flutters an abnormal rhythm. _Dammit, Brad._

“He barely got in there, Claire...and I _tried_. I tried to follow. The door was so stuck. It shifted just a little and I couldn’t... “ Alex swallows heavily. “I got some supplies in there for him but then he waved me off. Sent me to the next car.”

“You _left him_?”

“I couldn’t get in there! The fire department arrived on scene then and were yelling me off.”

Claire’s jaw goes tight. Her urge to punch renewed. Delany left him. His partner. Left him. “Then where is he?” 

Alex just shakes his head. He rubs a hand over his filthy face. “I don’t know. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Claire. There was so much happening, so many people to triage. They were working on that car when I brought my patient over. I can go find out?”

“ _Find out_ !” The edge, the threat, in her voice surprises even her. Claire starts to walk away then changes her mind. Doesn’t even think. She whirls on the heel of her bright blue clog and lets loose all her fear, all her anger, into one swift punch to Alex’s shoulder. Delany staggers backwards, surprised. “I can’t believe you left him. _Asshole_!”

Saying no more, Delany just gives her another apologetic look and wanders off. 

“Ow, dammit,” Claire whines as she shakes her hand out. Unfortunately, she thinks the hit hurt her more than she hurt him. But she doesn’t care. Worth it.

“That help?” Rick is suddenly at her side, a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“Not at all.” Claire ducks her head and takes several deep, cleansing breaths. Swallows back the emotion lodged in her throat. The bustle of her department registers again. She needs to get her head back in the game. Brad is still alive. He will be okay. He will. He had to be a goddamn hero but he will be okay. She has to believe that.

“Wanna channel that stress into setting a broken ankle?” 

“Yes, please,” she exhales. 

“He’ll be okay, Claire,” Rick assures her, rubbing a quick circle on her back. Claire sags under the sympathy. 

“You don’t know that.”

“No. But he has everything to fight for.” Rick’s smile always does the trick. She meets his eyes with renewed strength. “Now, c’mon, we have patients to see.”

* * *

Stationed in the bullpen where she can direct their crisis response and flow of patients, and not risk her trembling hands on a trauma, Claire focuses her mind on the task at hand. After a few minutes, she finds a rhythm and their department moves with fluid, practiced ease.

She is signing off on their latest discharges when the page comes overhead for an incoming trauma. She tenses.

The doors to the trauma bay burst open, an achingly familiar voice booming above the hustle to bark out stats. 

Relief hits Claire hard. She chokes back a sudden sob.

_Brad._

He’s striding behind a gurney, towering above his patient. He’s filthy, covered in soot and dirt and blood, and cradles his left arm against his chest. But he’s walking and focused on his patient and alive. Claire has never seen anything more wonderful. 

“Brad!” 

He stops in his tracks. The two other paramedics with the gurney continue on. It’s just Brad, standing tall and only a little broken in the midst of the swirling emergency department. He meets her eyes and the relief that washes over him is visible.

Claire rushes over to him, launches herself at him basically. He’s standing and alive and so he can take her entire weight thrown at him. She doesn’t care.

And he does. He wraps one strong arm around her as she buries herself in his chest. He smells like an electrical fire, like the dirty subway, but is warm and solid against her. She presses her ear hard to his chest to hear his heartbeat, strong and steady.

“I’m gonna get ya all dirty, Claire.” He murmurs it into her hair as he kisses her head.

Tears of relief drip down her face at his words. Remembering the first time she heard nearly the same sentiment from him. She sighs into him. Squeezes him tighter. “I don’t care.”

“I’m okay, Claire.” He tries to extract himself from her grasp but she won’t let go. Not yet.

“Your arm…”

“No biggie, Claire. It’s just my trick shoulder.”

Claire pulls back at that, laughing a little through her tears. “Your _what_? Brad, no!” 

He tries to shrug and then winces at the effort. “Just promise me that you won’t let Dynia near me.” Brad grins at her, tracing her cheek with his dirty hand, wiping away her tears. Claire just shakes her head and leans into his touch.

“C’mon, let’s get you to an exam room.” She tugs his good hand. Revels in the feel of his solid grasp in hers.

“Claire, that’s really not—

But she won’t hear any refusal.

* * *

It takes all of her emotional strength to leave him in an exam room. To let Priya and Rick take over his care. 

She wants to be the one to clean and dress his wounds. To stitch the gash on his temple. To hold his good hand while she lets the two burliest guys she can find set his shoulder back into place. Unmedicated. Because he deserves that after running headlong into a burning subway station.

But she has a job to do. 

When things are finally calm, and her shift miraculously ends, she clocks out, grabs her stuff, and goes to his room.

She finds him gathering up his belongings, his discharge papers shoved in his back pocket, as he tries to maneuver around the small space and work with one hand.

“Need any help?”

He turns to her with a brilliant smile. “Claire. Pretty, pretty Doc Saffitz.”

“Oh they gave you the good drugs, huh?” She teases. His eyes sparkle a bit too brightly in the fluorescent light. She can’t help but surge up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. She knows this doesn’t mean things are okay between them but she almost lost him today. She’s going to pretend he’s still all hers as long as she can. 

“Maybe a little bit.”

“Looks like you’ll be okay,” she hedges as she looks over him with a critical eye. 

Brad snorts. “Like you ain’t been reading my chart in violation of my medical privacy.”

Sticking her nose in the air, Claire just rolls her eyes. “I _am_ the attending here. I do have to sign off on all charts.” Though of course she read his with careful attention to every detail, every number, checking and double checking that nothing had been missed.

With a laugh, Brad reaches for the door with his good hand, gestures her through. “That’s my girl.”

Claire doesn’t follow his lead. She inhales a shaky breath. “Am I still?”

Suddenly a little more sober, Brad shoots her a weary grin. “Always, Claire. Always.”

She beams at him. “Come home with me? Please?” She's not ready to let him out of her sight yet.

Brad hesitates only a moment, weighing his choices. But exhaustion and perhaps her pleading eyes seem to win out. “As long as we can take a cab.”

Claire snorts. As if it’s even a question.

* * *

It’s late in the day. The sun is beginning to set, golden rays peeking in through Claire’s windows. Claire is cozied up on her couch, her legs outstretched onto the coffee table, Brad’s head dozing on a pillow in her lap. 

She absently runs her fingers through his curls as he breathes deeply. Claire assesses every breath. Her TV plays NY1 at a low volume. When coverage turns to the subway derailment, she reaches for the remote and clicks the volume up a few notches. Brad’s eyes blink open. 

“ _Officials now report the derailment was a tragic accident. While the exact cause is still being investigated, signs point to a gas leak from an idle machine stored in the tunnels during ongoing track reconstruction being ignited by a spark. We will report on any further developments, however, the mayor’s statement says terrorism is not indicated at this time. I repeat—_ ”

Claire clicks off the TV. She glances down to meet Brad’s clear gaze. “Was it bad?”

Rubbing his eyes, Brad uses his good arm to push himself up with a loud groan. “Yeah. Yeah, it was bad. I thought-- ”

“That you’d run towards a potential terrorist attack?” Claire bites her lip. She looks down and picks at a loose thread on the pillow in her lap.

Brad runs his hand through his hair. “Shit, Claire, I wasn’t exactly thinking. I just knew there were people down there that needed help.”

"Tell me."

The deep breath he takes reveals a rattle. Claire isn't sure if it's emotion or irritation in his lungs. She narrows her eyes at him and files the symptom away for later. He meets her gaze and begins:

"I heard their screams, that they were trapped. There was so much smoke. I knew the damage it could cause if anyone was trapped in there."

"So you thought you'd put yourself in there too?!"

Brad holds a hand up to stop the rant she feels is about to spill out. "The door was stuck. People couldn't get out. I got it open, but then the whole car started to shift. I could see people in there, hurt and bleeding-- I wasn't sure how long it would be before the FD could get them out. I couldn't just leave them there." Brad squeezes her hand in reassurance. "Delany was able to get me some supplies. A few people helped me to seal off the car so we wouldn't get more smoke inside. We used water bottles people had to make wet cloth masks."

Claire closes her eyes and takes a slow, even breath. "That was quick thinking," she manages out as she tries to keep her heart rate down. 

Shrugging his good shoulder, Brad just shakes his head. "Just basic stuff, Claire. I tried to triage and treat what I could with my limited supplies. The FD were there pretty quick getting us out."

He's downplaying it, she knows. His quick thinking probably minimized what could've been some significant injuries, even fatalities. "Your shoulder?"

The crooked grin he gives Claire is enough to make her smirk, just a little. "Ah. Yeah. See, the car was kind of...tilted."

"Tilted?"

"Uh huh. When it came time to evacuate, the only way out was by climbing up and out." 

"Brad," Claire whispers, unable to hid her exasperation. She pictures him standing on sideways subway seats, boosting up the injured and less physically able to pull themselves up and out of a disaster scene. She imagines that would be most people. 

"The firefighters did most of the work," he says, a bit sheepish now. "I just needed to give a few people a little boost."

"And?" She fixes him with a demanding glare as that certainly doesn't explain the shoulder.

"I slipped."

Claire sighs deeply, shaking her head. She can't think further on him tumbling and falling down into a damaged subway car. "Oh, Brad."

"That's it. We got everyone out and then I was on a bus headed to you." Brad grabs for his glass of water. He chugs a good amount down. 

"Don't minimize what you did. You're a hero, Brad." 

He grabs her hand, twining their fingers together before pressing a kiss to her wrist. “Didn’t wanna be a hero. But if I had to do it again…”

Claire squeezes his hand. “You’d do the same.”

Brad nods. “You can’t ask me not to jump in and help when shit hits the fan. Just like I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

The lingering fear of the day’s events still heavy in her chest, Claire can’t help but let a few more tears escape down her cheeks. “Can I at least ask you to get a partner that won’t leave you behind?”

Placing another kiss to her thumb, Brad smirks up at her. “Nah, kid was just following protocol. Unlike moi.”

Claire raises an eyebrow at him. “I punched him. Probably not very hard. But I’d do it again.” She takes a shaky breath. “You deserve someone who sticks with you, no matter what.” 

Brad chuckles and rubs his thumb over her fingers. “Oh, babe.”

Taking a deep breath, Claire knows she has some things to say. “I know maybe now is not the time to have that talk. That there’s a lot more to say but..” She pauses. Brad watches her carefully. She holds his gaze, steady and sure. “But I want you to know how truly sorry I am. I was scared. I was so scared of the feelings I have for you. I’ve…” Claire takes a deep breath. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you and it scares me out of my mind. The thought of losing you. Even before today and your stupidly heroic stunt. I should’ve told you about the job offer all along, so you could decide for yourself how you wanted this to go. I was selfish though. I thought if I just pretended everything was okay, that I could still have everything I wanted. You. The job. And that wasn’t fair to you at all.”

“Claire,” Brad sighs. With some effort, he maneuvers her into his arms, holds her so gently. “Even before my brave actions today, I knew I wasn’t lettin’ you get away. You’re stuck with me, Doc.”

Claire sits up a bit so she can see him. “Promise?” He nods. She smiles. “Good. I love you, Brad.”

“And I love you.” 

She traces his sweet, toothy smile with her thumb before pulling his head down to seal it all with a kiss.

* * *

It’s not as simple as that, of course.

But it’s easy enough to believe it is as Claire takes some banked sick days to take care of Brad. He doesn’t really need her hovering over him, making sure he’s taking his pain meds on schedule, gently testing his shoulder’s range of motion, and keeping a steady cycle of heat and ice packs on rotation. 

“Dammit, Claire!” He curses at her, lacking edge, when she jostles him awake from his nap on her couch to make him swallow a few ibuprofen. “Can you let a guy rest?”

Claire raises an eyebrow at him. “Maybe a guy cannot risk life and limb without suffering a few consequences? Take the pills. Also, your shoulder is going to get stiff if you sleep like that.”

Brad grumbles at her a bit, but obliges and lets her shove a pillow under his arm. “Hey, hey. Gentle, Claire!”

With a snort, Claire ignores him and tidies up her small living room. “I have chicken soup on the stove and bread in the oven. We can eat in another hour or so I think. Is your stomach okay? I know the naproxen made you nauseous earlier. I should’ve brought you a snack with the ibuprofen. Or maybe some tea? I’ll make tea—

“Claire.” Brad’s tone is gentle as he grabs her hand, pulls her down to him. “I’m fine. Really.”

Claire sits on the edge of the couch, barely touching him. It’s been like this since the morning they came back to her place. She’s focused all her energy on fixing his physical ailments, hoping that will carry over to his emotional wounds. Because with his injury, she knows how to make it better. Beyond that, she’s adrift and she hates it. 

Expelling a breath so forceful it lifts the hair out of her face, Claire finally allows herself to indulge in touching him. A careful hand skims his jaw, his neck, his healing shoulder, all the way down to his hand. He meets her exploring fingers with his own, threading their hands together. 

“I’m really not that injured, Doc. You know that.”

“I know,” Claire murmurs in response. With her free hand, she brushes his bedhead into place. “I just don’t know how to feel right now and I hate it. It’s driving me crazy.”

Brad makes a face at her. “Yeah, I got that much, Claire. He chuckles which gives way to a groan as he manages himself up to sit. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Her initial response is skepticism— talking about her feelings, not just the superficial ones, on command is not her thing. She likes to take time to think and plan and know exactly what she’s going to say. But Brad is watching her carefully, his impossibly blue eyes clear and patient. He is asking her to take a leap and will be there to catch her if she falls. 

So she fights against her instinct to shut down, to put on a front. She takes a moment to reflect. He waits. 

“I guess…” She shakes her head and starts again. “No, I _know_. I am so grateful you’re okay after the other day. I love that you’re here and I can take care of you, even if it’s driving you nuts. I told you, the thought of losing you is terrifying. Right now, I just want to grab onto you as tightly as I can, literally and figuratively. But...but the way things were before the accident are hanging over my head, our heads, really, and I know this,” she gestures between them, “might not be okay. 

“I told you, I’m not planning on going anywhere,” Brad reminds her gently. She gets the sense that he knows where this is going, that it isn’t about to all come crashing down around her again. That gives her the strength to keep going.

“I fucked up,” Claire admits. “That day I came to Jersey...our first time together... I wasn’t just going to visit a friend. That was my first interview.”

Brad doesn’t seem surprised. He’s put that together already. Still, admitting the truth hits Claire hard and she has to take a deep, centering breath.

“I didn’t say anything because part of me thought it was ridiculous— we hadn’t even been on a date yet, so why should I tell you about this longshot interview? It was like telling you about every bad relationship I’ve been in. But another part of me knew. Knew this was something special starting and I was afraid if I told you, I’d scare you off.”

“I get it, Claire,” Brad reassures her. “You didn’t have to tell me then. I get it.”

Claire bites her lip. “It just snowballed from there. I fell for you so quickly. I was so scared if I told you, you would pull away from me. And I didn’t want to risk that. I just… I just stupidly, and selfishly, hoped it would work itself out. That I wouldn’t have to choose.”

Brad does her the courtesy of keeping his expression neutral. “And what made you think _you’d_ have to be the one to choose?”

Her voice comes out so much smaller than she anticipates. “Last time it was a choice, he didn’t even consider the staying together option.”

“Oh, Claire.” 

She doesn’t expect to get teary again, but she does. And Brad pulls her into his arms without thought, holding her as tightly as his bum arm will allow. She inhales the soothing scent of him, how warm and solid and _everything_ he is to her. “I was so scared I wasn’t enough for you.”

“Not even an option, babe,” Brad barely gets out between the kisses he’s dropping on her jaw, her neck. He cradles her head with a gentle yet deliberate force. Claire feels all the jagged edges that were causing her so much anxiety begin to melt and smooth out. 

After a long minute where she allows herself to indulge in the pleasure his mouth works into her skin, she pushes him back, knowing they need to finish this conversation. “I want this job, Brad. My career is important to me and this feels like the next step, what I’ve been looking for. I know I could turn it down and probably in a few years another opportunity like it will come along but… I don’t want to wait. I want this job. I’m ready.”

Claire chews her lip, waits for Brad to respond. But he sits quietly, considering her words. She knows he won’t say anything until she gets it all out.

“But I also want this. Us. You. I...I know this is a big ask. We’ve only been together a few weeks. But I want you to come to Chicago with me. I want us to start a life together there.”

Brad still doesn’t give her anything. She looks down, wrings her hands together. Her heart rate is off the charts; this all feels like freefall without a parachute and it’s terrifying. Brad takes a deep breath and leans back into the couch cushions. He messes with his hair, the wispy curls standing up in every direction. 

“A life together, huh?” He finally turns to her, a twinkle in his eyes. Claire breathes again, light headed with the sudden influx of oxygen. 

Encouraged, Claire nods and meets his gaze, allowing a grin of her own to brighten her face. “Yes. Ninety years old in rocking chairs on the porch.”

“Hmm,” Brad considers with a chuckle. “Not sure this body will carry me to ninety.” He taps his little gut. “But I’d sure like to try.”

Claire nudges him with her shoulder. “Brad! Don’t even joke like that.”

“Sorry, babe, just pointing out that those questionable choices I made as a youth may someday come bite me in the ass.”

“Stop.” She rolls her eyes at him but lets him pull her into his arms again. 

“Kids?” His question is hesitant and so she knows this is a dealbreaker. 

Nodding slowly, Claire pillows her head on his chest. “Yes. I want children but not for a few years.”

“Fair enough.” Brad kisses her temple. “I’ll stay home and take care of the rugrats while you go off and save the world. Dinner on the table every night at six sharp.”

Claire laughs. Weirdly, she can picture it. Though the whole scene has a haze of chaos that makes her a little nervous. “Careful. I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do, Doc.” He squeezes her tighter still. Claire sighs into the embrace. This is right. This is what she wants. They sit in a long, contented silence. The soundtrack of the city a familiar white noise outside her small apartment. Claire focuses on Brad’s steady breath and the gentle patterns he traces on her arm. “Feel any better, Claire?”

“Perfect,” Claire murmurs, the words leaving her mouth without thought. “Happy. Love you, Brad.”

“Right back atcha, Claire.”

  
  
  
  



	10. all the redemption i can offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I kept reworking this because it felt too fluffy, too on the nose...but then I thought, fuck it, I don't care. I need a major HEA and fluffy. I hope you do too! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed and has been on this long journey. What a year, huh? We come full circle on the song lyrics here-- back to "Thunder Road" by The Boss. 
> 
> I miss this fandom and these two. But I'm glad we got some great fic out of it. Thanks again for reading. Enjoy!

_ epilogue -  _ _ two years later _

When Claire was a little girl, she dreamed of becoming a doctor. All her life, she worked toward that goal. As she grew older, met benchmark after benchmark toward her dream, her vision grew and changed. By any measure, she was successful in her career and full in her life. But she’d never felt quite settled, happy. Never quite felt like reality met up with those childhood yearnings.

Now, Claire supposes, she might never achieve it all. Who could? There are so many things to work for, so many goals she wants to meet. And, beyond that, she’s learned that some of the most important, special things in her life were never part of her dream at all. That what has brought her the most happiness has been the unexpected detours along the way. Things that little girl with a plastic toy doctor’s kit could hardly fathom.

Like the sudden swerve in her life that brought her from the bustle of Manhattan to her quiet backyard on the outskirts of Chicago, the highrises of downtown just barely visible on the horizon. Claire always imagined that quintessential New York City life for herself— tiny apartments and crowded streets, snagging a breakfast sandwich from the bodega while catching the subway to work. Now, she lives on a street that looks almost suburban in a century-old bungalow that has been a giant pain in the ass to restore. She has a house (and a mortgage!) With a big kitchen (and a tiny bathroom.) And a garden where she can grow her own tomatoes and herbs and lettuce (when they don’t end up as rabbit food.) 

Things that had never felt like possible dreams before. Things she never imagined wanting. And yet...

Oh, yes there’s also the job she loves. The job that challenges her mind on a daily basis, where she can still see patients and teach but also has days where she can retreat to the quiet of an office to lose herself in research and writing. During normal, human work hours even.

And the husband. Did she mention that? He’s certainly not the man of her golden-hued dreams. He’s never quiet, rarely still, and always forgets at least three things on the grocery list. He prefers camping to museums and makes up his own lyrics to every song. But it was Brad that made sure the kitchen was their first project in the new house and spent weeks building her new cabinets, resurfacing the porcelain drainboard sink, and even constructed the most beautiful kitchen island for her complete with a butcher block top. And it’s Brad who reassures her that everything is good when she doubts herself. He reminds her that she loves her job and her life. With one of his big bear hugs, he restores her faith that they are right where they need to be and they will get where they are going together. Nothing is just her anymore; it’s  _ them _ . Their home and their little family and the life that they are building. 

Claire’s heart is full to bursting. It’s not the life she would’ve planned but it’s as close as she wants to get to perfect all the same.

And now, she thinks, she’s ready for them to take the next step in their journey. She just needs to know her partner is in step beside her.

Claire comes home to find the house empty. Unloading a cloth grocery bag onto the kitchen island, she notes that the back door is flung wide open, music playing in the distance. It’s all the clues she needs to figure out where her husband is. Claire pulls out the few perishable items from the bag and puts them in the fridge. Felix notices her arrival, or the potential for an early dinner at least, and winds through her legs with impatient meows. Claire bends down to pick him up, giving him a quick snuggle. She carries him over to the screen door to the backyard.

“What’s your father up to?” She asks Felix, who doesn’t offer up an answer. Claire squints into the late afternoon sun until Brad emerges from the garage, whistling to himself as he tosses a few tools onto the lawn. They’ve been preparing the yard for spring planting. Well. Brad’s been prepping the yard while she watches with an approving eye from the patio, cocktail in one hand and medical journal in the other. “He doesn’t even notice us,” she says, rolling her eyes with a secret smile. Felix chirps his annoyance. Claire gives him an affectionate scratch and sighs into his fur. “Doesn’t even care.” 

At that, Brad seems to sense her neediness and his whole face lights up. He gives her a big wave. “Claire!”

She can’t help it. Her heart still gives a little flutter when he turns on her like that, like she’s his whole world. Like it’s been weeks since he’s seen her face. She beams at him. “Hey, Brad.”

Unimpressed by the whole exchange now that dinner isn’t on offer, Felix clamours to get loose and heads off in search of a good napping spot. Brad wipes his sweaty face on his sleeve and heads toward the house. Opening the door for him, Claire accepts a quick kiss but weaves her way out of the grasp of his dirty hands. Brad hoots and lightly smacks her ass anyway.

“You’re home early, babe.”

Claire shrugs and leads him into the kitchen. “I had a gyno appointment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” But he’s not paying her much attention, more focused on scrubbing his hands in the sink. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. Everything’s good.”

That earns her a leer. “ _ Yeah _ it is.”

With a roll of her eyes, Claire begins to pull the last of her haul out of the grocery bag— her favorite chocolates, Brad’s favorite wine. Her husband steps behind her and presses a hand into the small of her back, rubbing gentle circles there with the tips of his fingers. “Ooh, whatcha got there, Claire?”

Claire hides the last item in the bag from his grabby hands. Turning into his embrace, she offers him a teasing smile. “We gotta talk first.”

Brad’s eyes flick between the truffles and the wine and her eyes. She knows he’s wondering if he missed an anniversary or something. “Okay…” 

“My IUD needed to be removed today. It was time.”

Brad blinks, even more confused. “O- _ kay _ …?”

“Instead of getting a new one put in, I thought…maybe now’s the time to go without. See what happens. If you’re ready too.”

Despite the clear hinting in her eyes, Brad does not seem to be getting it. “Sure, Claire, I mean...it’s your body and you're the doc so, you know, whatever you think…” He’s distracted again, reaching around her to study the wine. 

Claire shakes her head. She grabs his shoulders and forces his attention fully on her. “Brad! Listen to me. No IUD.  _ No birth control _ .”

Slowly, things start to click into place. Brad’s eyes go a bit wide. “Claire…?”

“Of course, this is a big decision that we should make together...” Claire notices Brad is still staring at her, shocked and maybe a little amazed. She rushes to fill the silence. She’s suddenly nervous. They’ve talked about this before, many times, but abstract planning is very different than _ this could actually be happening _ . “Obviously, an IUD isn’t our only birth control option. We don’t have to decide anything right away either…” 

“Claire.” It’s a whisper, almost a prayer. Claire can’t help the tears that spring to her eyes in response. “You’re ready?”

Biting her lip, Claire nods. “If you are…”

Brad nods eagerly with a big, goofy grin on his face. “Oh hell yeah.” And then he’s got her off her feet and balanced on the edge of the counter, kissing her with all he has. Claire giggles into his mouth and wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him into her. 

“I’m not even sure when I’ll be ovulating…” she can barely gasp the words out as Brad works her neck over. “So, you know, don’t get  _ too excited _ .” Claire grabs for his head, needing him closer; his hat tumbles to the floor. 

“S’okay,” Brad murmurs into her skin. The scruff on his face is ticklish, as always, and she laughs as she nuzzles against him. “We could use the practice anyway.”

“Is that so?” Claire fists his shirt in her hands and urges it off and over his head. As much as she wants to continue full speed, Claire forces a deep, shuddering breath and feels for the item still left in her grocery bag. She waves her prize: a box of condoms. She watches him expectantly for any sign he’s considering the out. “I picked these up, just in case. No pressure.”

Giving her an exaggerated eye roll, Brad snatches the box and tosses it in the general direction of their garbage can. Then, becoming more serious, he frames her face with his hands, brushing at her hair gently with his thumb. “Claire, I’ve wanted a life with you ever since the first time I walked into your trauma room and you started bossing me around. I love you and I love the home we’ve built but...I think we’re ready for more.”

“Yeah?” Claire loses herself in the loving warmth of his gaze for a long moment. “Me too.” 

Brad is a bit starry eyed as well. But doesn’t let that stop him from getting started on the buttons to her shirt. “Good. Then let’s get going. I know how much you like to study and practice and shit, Doc. Gotta make sure we’ve got this right.” 

He’s teasing, she knows, but she gives him the exasperated look he’s expecting in response. “Oh don’t even start. There are going to be  _ notes _ .” Brad chuckles as he presses kisses to her revealed skin. “Charts. Calendars. Plans, lots of plans…” 

She lets out a squeal when Brad scoops her up off the island and heads in the direction of their bedroom. “Plans! Claire! I’ll show you _ plans _ …”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
